


Hero by Mistake

by ScriptrixDraconum



Series: Hero [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Bandits & Outlaws, College of Winterhold - Freeform, Constructed Language, Culture Shock, Daedra, Dimension Travel, Dragons, Drama, Fantasy, Gods, Historical Fantasy, Language Barrier, Modern Girl in Skyrim, Modern Insert, Modern OC, Multi, OC has no knowledge of Nirn, Portals, Reaistic, Romance, Time Travel, Undead, conlang, modern to medieval
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:18:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 55
Words: 199,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScriptrixDraconum/pseuds/ScriptrixDraconum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>HERO SERIES, PART 1</b>. Bioarchaeologist. University professor. My name is Deborah, and I am not supposed to be here. I fell into a cave, hit my head, and woke up in a world with swords, barbarians, and magic. I’m lost and not understood, and my only friend has a penchant for blood warpaint.</p><p><b>Full Description:</b> "Hero by Mistake" is the story of Deborah, an American archaeologist who has a terrible accident on a dig site in Norway and loses consciousness. When she wakes up, she believes she's been abandoned by her colleagues, and doesn't know she's not in her own world. She believes that the first people she runs into are local Norwegian archaeologists, but is very, very wrong.</p><p><b>TL;DR: </b>The following story is what happens when a modern-day non-combat-ready woman gets ripped into another reality where coffee and toilet paper do not exist but dragons and undead do.</p><p><b>Disclaimer:</b> All Skyrim in-game characters, themes, questline plots etc. are property of Bethesda Softworks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oops

**Author's Note:**

> **NOTE:** I am once again in the process of editing/improving/proofreading this story.
> 
> About the Story: This is not a self-insert into the game, but rather the insert of a modern-day woman Dragonborn-to-be into another universe. In this story, Skyrim, as a game, does NOT exist, but the universe where Skyrim exists does. Almost all quests and plot lines from the game will be altered. No quest will be narrated as-is in the game. Nearly everything you read in this story, except perhaps the main plot points (yes, there will be a Helgen chapter) will be genuine, or will fill in gaps in the Elder Scrolls lore that might have been mentioned in-game but are never shown or experienced. In-game NPCs will be featured, in-character, but their in-game dialogues will not be used.
> 
> Because there is a complete language barrier between Deborah and the other characters, a glossary has been provided at the end of this story.

_I am an idiot._

Everything hurt upon waking. Awareness of the pain came slowly, piecemeal, and I noted the protesting parts as they made themselves known. The back of my head felt as if bludgeoned. Attempts to turn to my side were thwarted by screaming ribs that halted my breath. And my lower back –  _oh, fuck._ This pain was all-too familiar. My tailbone was bruised.

It was always me that had an accident. Always me. Last year, it was me that ruined the perfectly-sculpted walls of a five-by-five trench at a medieval site in Scotland. I lost my footing just a little bit, but my boot took down a fair amount of the trench profile. Aside from a spasming back the following day, I was fine. The profile was not. I was pretty sure the site director hated me after that.

The year before that, in Romania, I was stung by a bee and my left arm doubled in size. My arm became so painful that I couldn't sleep, and I had to be driven to the nearest hospital, three hours away.  _That_  was fun.

Clearly, this incident trumped them all. I didn’t remember what happened, at first. I only understood that I was in pain. But then I felt a wooden plank beneath me, and then another. Nails jutted dangerously. I wondered if any pierced my skin.

And then I realized - the scaffolding. It had only taken a second for the wood to collapse beneath me after I heard the first telltale crack, sending me plummeting down the shaft that had been cut into the earth to expand the cave entrance. On my way down, my only thought had been of a friend melodramatically calling out, _OSHA!_ We all knew the scaffolding wasn’t up to standard. We all shrugged it off.

I was injured, and I probably had some sort of concussion. I would be stuck in a hospital here in Norway while the rest of my fellow crewmembers had fun in the dirt.

_Fuck._

I opened my eyes to utter darkness. How long had I been unconscious? We had just finished lunch when I had been called over to the cave.

Overcoming the pain of moving, I lifted an arm and prodded my eye sockets to make sure I still had eyeballs because, apparently, I thought it possible to have lost them. Everything was fine. I had, however, lost my glasses in the fall. I felt around for them. I envisioned myself finding them by hearing the crunch of resin under my foot, but even that didn't happen. They were just gone, as were my boots.

Not being able to see despite the sun shining brightly when I had fallen was disconcerting. Panic began to set in. Wondering if I was in fact dead and in some kind of purgatory, I lifted my fingers to my carotid. A quickened, rhythmic beat tapped my finger pads.

"Nope, definitely not dead."

With as big a breath as I could manage I called for help, but all I heard in return was my voice echoing into the depths. No one answered, and no one came. The sound of my own heart beating, my increasingly panicked breath, and the occasional drip of moisture into puddles somewhere in the cave were the only responses to my pleas. Panic was quickly replaced by terror.

With borrowed energy from fear and adrenaline I managed to sit up, groaning and wincing with the effort. I leaned forward and smoothed my hands down my legs to make sure they weren't broken, missing, or cut to pieces. The jeans I wore were damp, but intact. I did the same to my arms. Fine. My back, ribs, neck, and head were another story.

I needed to move, and had to decide whether or not I could stand and walk. I managed to move myself onto my knees, all the while crying out from the pain that started between my buttocks and shot up through my spine. 

_Stupid, useless coccyx._

Testing the movement, I tentatively crawled down the pitch-black, cold, dank stone corridor. I wasn't sure if crawling or walking was better for a bruised tailbone, but crawling was manageable, so crawl I did. At least this way I wouldn't slip on the smooth damp floor and finish myself off. Onward I crawled, carefully feeling for any change in the floor texture or level, but the corridor seemed never-ending and uniform.

When I heard what sounded like voices, I stopped crawling. All I could hear were the muffled, rhythmic vibrations of distant natural speech. I touched the stone around me - I was still flanked by the two slick stone walls of the corridor. I continued on my hands and knees in the same direction, determined to find people and get out of this darkness that hurt my eyes.

I had been straining to see any light at all, and my eye muscles quickly fatigued. Even closed my eyes hurt, so I just kept them open. I kept crawling, every moment agony, and then I finally saw it – dim, flickering light. Fire? At that point, I didn't really care if I was crawling into an inferno. I just wanted out of the cave.

Since I had been crawling slowly, I managed not to completely crash into the wall ahead of me. I felt around. My eyes begged to find any hint of that flickering light. I realized that the corridor turned to my left, and so I followed the stone path to wherever it was leading me. The light brightened, and I saw vague contours of the cave walls. A patch of white, dripping limestone stood out from the grey-brown around it. Further down, visibility increased, and the voices grew louder but I still couldn't discern words. I rounded another bend in the corridor, and then the full intensity of the light source hit my eyes.

I reeled back from the light after it assaulted my dilated pupils. Giving myself a moment, gently rubbing my closed eyelids, I then looked up and saw a flaming torch hung against the side of the stone. Some kind of metal holder held it in place. I was confused, because I never heard of archaeologists using anything but electric lanterns and flashlights. I didn't think anything more of it, however, and continued down the corridor until I saw a wooden door ahead. Again, I was confused. Another torch hugged the wall just before the door. I easily saw everything, but I saw it blurry. Very, very blurry.

When I approached the door, I reached up, grabbed the slender, cold metal handle, and willed myself to stand. My wailing groan was unavoidable, and surely alerted whoever was behind the door to my presence. When I stood firm on two feet and stopped whimpering long enough to catch my breath, I heard a ruckus behind the door – shouts, the sound of chairs scraping on a hard surface, and some sort of metallic swooshing sound. Male and female voices called out frantically to one another in a language I couldn't understand, but I figured it was just the local archaeologists and volunteers. I didn't speak much Norwegian.

My hand was still on the door handle, using it to brace my broken body. I readied myself to push or pull open the door, but it was yanked away from me violently. I stumbled forward, crying out again as I fell hard to my hands and knees on the stone floor of the next room. I was surprised that I didn't break my wrists under my weight.

A group of people shouted and gathered around me. Lifting my head just enough to look at my current eye level, I saw the blurry shapes of leather boots and dark, dirty khakis. I sighed in relief, thankful that I'd found other archaeologists. I didn't care who they were – they would help me, somehow.

"Damn, I'm glad to see you," I said with broken breath.

Murmurs and foreign words followed my comment. No one moved, not to help me, not do to anything. I tried to look up, but my damaged neck refused the movement. I grimaced and grunted as I lifted one leg and planted one foot on the ground.

 _Really? Are these people really not gonna help me stand?_ If I had known more Norwegian I would have cursed them out; the word “fuck” however was surely universal, and I uttered it repeatedly as I pushed myself onto both feet.

I squinted, but it was no use. I couldn't see very well past a hand’s length in front of my face. I could identify objects, but not details or facial expressions, and what I thought I saw confused me. What at first I thought had been headgear of some kind, a hardhat or helmet with a headlamp, appeared to be metallic, and horned.

"Uh-um," I stammered, "I'm hurt. Real bad. I need a doctor. I also lost my glasses and can't see very well." I had prescription sunglasses in my backpack. I just needed to find my way back to the site.

My plea for aid was met only by more murmurs, and people glancing at each other. I was growing annoyed. Every Norwegian person I knew under the age of fifty understood and spoke at least  _some_  English. I figured it couldn't hurt to try to say something in Norwegian.

" _Hjelp_ ," I tried, my accent probably horrendous. " _Lege_." Help. Doctor. I figured it would be good enough, but I was wrong. " _Vaer så snill_." Please. The only other word I knew was " _toalett_ " and that was not something I needed.

The man in the horned helmet stared at me, and after a while the silent stand-still became truly unnerving, particularly because I couldn't see facial expressions. Actually, I was mostly unnerved because the man before me was wearing a  _horned helmet_ , and was staring at me as if I interrupted some private, secret thing.

 _Shit, is this a cult? Wonderful_. I was going to be killed, beaten, raped, and/or eaten by a clan of horn-helmet-wearing cultists in a cave.

I took a painful step backward and the crowd of men and women followed, taking one step forward. It was then I realized they were all dressed in the same sort of khaki clothing with metal accents, and from what my eyes could perceive, the women were  _really_  not dressed appropriately for an archaeological dig.

As I was injured, running was futile, and soI tried one more time to ask for help.

" _Hjelp meg!" Help me. Don't eat me, please._   _I know I'm fat and probably would be nice and juicy but really, please don't eat me._ I never thought I had such a will to live until faced with imminent cannibalism.

The man with the horned helmet turned to his right. The bald, tall man beside him nodded once.

_Nodded! Maybe they're gonna help—_

. . . . . .

I awoke some time later with an even more painful headache, vertigo, a growling stomach accompanied by nausea, an incredible urge to urinate, and my hands tied behind my back. I was just grateful that I saw no signs of my captors prepping to cook me.

"What the hell, guys," I muttered, not caring that they apparently didn't understand me.

Someone came over and crouched at my side. I turned slowly to see a heavily muscled man with blood smeared in two streaks across each cheek. He was definitely not wearing khakis, but rather unpolished hide trousers. His chest was bare. When he raised his hand, I turned away and whined, convinced he was going to bash my head again. I waited for the impact, but it never came. The man grabbed my face with a calloused hand and forced me to look at him. The movement hurt.

I might have been partially blind, but I could certainly recognize a canteen when it was shoved in front of my face. I was confused, but also incredibly thirsty, so I drank what was thankfully plain, cold water.

The man corked the canteen, helped me stand, and then led me to another part of the cave. My captor pointed at a bed and nodded for me to sit on it. An older woman approached me and asked a question, but since I didn't understand, I just stared at her. She began poking my body methodically.

Finally, a doctor.

I pointed at the upper cleft of my buttocks, pressed on it, and squealed in pain. I then held a hand to my ribs and head and made a pained face. She understood. She laid me down on the bed, held her hands above my body, and I watched as a glowing, translucent yellow light emerged from her palms.

"What the fuck?" My blurting didn't faze the old woman. She held her palms above my waist and in seconds I felt the pain in my backside vanish.

"Oh, oh dear god." I sighed with the sudden pleasure of not feeling immense, constant pain. Her hands hovered over my torso and then my head. The pain in the back and side of my skull went away. My neck pain went away. All pain went away. I felt brand new.

The warm, glowing thing stopped and the woman took a step back and helped me sit up.

I looked across the room to my captor and realized that I could see him clearly. He was smiling.

"Oh, shit,” I blurted, gawking. Whatever this old woman did, it had caused me to see perfectly well. I blinked back and forth between Doctor Lady and my captor. My very, very attractive captor.

I turned to the old woman who had healed my body and fixed my sight.

"What the hell was that?" I grasped her hand and looked at her palm, searching for some sort of device that would emit radiation or whatever could fix my body instantly, but found nothing but her skin. She grumbled something, pulled free, and walked away.

My captor walked over and said one word that I didn't understand, but he offered me his hand, and I stood. Seeing this well without glasses or contact lenses hadn't been something I could do for about twenty years, and I was not used to it. I was also not used to seeing someone who was supposed to be my captor smile at me and hold my hand. He then retied my wrists with the rope, all the while smiling.

“Wait! I have to pee!”

The man looked at me blankly.

“Pee,” I repeated, and squeezed my thighs together. I made a pained face and did something resembling a toddler’s full-bladder dance.

My captor chuckled, and then holding my upper arm, pulled me forward into another part of the cave. When I saw daylight, I was ecstatic. Fresh air and daylight. Or, rather, sunset light. Once outside I considered shouting for someone to save me, but I figured this man would drag me back inside. Just in case, I would make sure to pee and  _then_  call for help.

We walked to a stand of bushes not far from the cave opening. I was hoping he would untie my wrist bindings, but instead I felt his hands fumbling to lower my pants.

The jeans were tight on me. How one was able to readily gain weight while on a dig, I would never know, but it was one of my talents. He moved around from behind me to examine the front of the jeans. He finally unbuttoned the waist, but was entranced by the zipper. His fingers ran up and down the length of the closed metal teeth, and he flicked the tab several times.

"Seriously? It's a zipper." Perhaps Norway had its own sort of Amish people, living a traditional life without modern technology, like zippers. Instead of working farmsteads and practicing carpentry, they lived in caves and wore animal skins.

My captor looked up at me from his crouched position, clearly annoyed. Finally, he pulled on the metal tab, and down my zipper went. I was worried that he would get a whiff of my day-without-bathing body odor. I then remembered that he himself reeked, and I stopped worrying about that.

The man tugged off my jeans. Bootless, I was able to step out of the denim easily. He then unceremoniously tugged off my underwear. Though I expected this to happen, I was horrified at being exposed. He then gripped my upper arm again and moved us closer to the bushes. He pointed, said something, and nodded at a bush.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

He let go of my arm, then moved between me and the rest of the thicket. I was stuck between a bush and a barbarian. A barbarian that refused to look away.

_Fine, sadist barbarian. I'll urinate in front of you._

When finished, I waited for the man to wipe my crotch, but that never happened. I let myself air-dry. He grabbed my upper arm again and led me back to my clothes, then re-dressed me in my underwear but not my jeans. When he pulled me to go back into the cave, I resisted.

"My jeans," I said as if he'd understand.

I guess he did, on some level, because he looked back to the pile of denim, shook his head, then grabbed me again.

"But those are my favorite work jeans!"

The man grumbled something in reply.

Back inside the cave, we stopped at a wooden wardrobe. Inside were piles of what I guessed were more hide clothes. He grunted when he found something that he must have deemed appropriate, because he pulled it from the wardrobe and held it up to my waist. He nodded in approval and then set it down before reaching for my underwear again. I flinched, unsure of what he was planning to do. This angered the man. He grabbed my old cotton ladybriefs and yanked them forward, effectively ripping them at the seams. They fell to the cave floor.

"Goddamn it!"

He came at me with the hide sheet and proceeded to cover my lower body with it, tucking in the hide fabric at my waist and securing it with a belt. I figured he'd done this for the simple reason that when I had to pee again, he wouldn't have to work so damned hard to undress me.

 _Lazy, sadist barbarian._ At least he didn't rip off my simple, dirty cotton work shirt and sports bra.

After I was dressed in the hide wrap skirt, the man in the horned helmet approached. A chill ran through me; the vibe I got from this guy was nothing short horrifying.

Horn Helmet Guy shouted something at Sadist Guy. Sadist Guy shouted back with equal fervor and tugged me by my upper arm towards him. Maybe Horn Helmet Guy didn't want Sadist Guy to help me. Maybe Sadist Guy wasn’t helping me enough.

Sadist Guy spoke more calmly and loosened his grip on my arm. Horn Helmet Guy growled before he left. Sadist Guy turned to me and spoke in a gentle voice. His eyes held no anger or hatred. To my surprise, he gave my upper arm a gentle squeeze. The thought occurred to me that Sadist Guy was actually protecting me from Horn Helmet Guy. Compared to the alternative, I accepted this version of my fate, whatever was going to happen in the end.

It then dawned on me that I had forgotten to shout for help outside. Before I could make a run for it, my captor had already led me to a different part of the cave. I smelled food. Glorious, glorious food. My stomach spoke its own language, and I was sure everyone around me heard the growls. Even Sadist Guy laughed.

He sat me down at a wooden table and plopped himself next to me on the bench. A skinny woman set in front of us metal eating utensils and plates of what smelled like meat and potatoes. I looked over at my captor who was eagerly stuffing his face. I cleared my throat. Sadist Guy swallowed his mouthful and then smiled, either realizing I couldn't eat with my hands bound or perhaps, I considered, he had jokingly expected me to bend forward and stuff my face in my plate like a dog.

He unbound my wrists and tossed the rope away. I considered grabbing my fork and stabbing my captor in the eye, but the thought of Horn Helmet Guy doing whatever he wanted to do to me quickly relieved that urge, and instead I used the fork to fill my belly. While eating, I wondered why at this setting my captor decided it was alright to relieve me of my restraints, and  _not_  when I had to urinate.

_Yup, definitely a sadist._

After eating, we returned to where I had woken up. He indicated for me to sit on what looked like a horribly thin bedroll. He knelt behind me, grabbed my wrists, and rebound my hands behind my back. Not with a stiff, cutting rope this time, but a strong and supple strip of leather.

I let out a single sob, relinquishing any last hope of an actual decent human being helping me, and watched as Sadist Guy sat on a bedroll next to mine. He said something that sounded like an instruction as opposed to a request, but I had no idea what he said.

"I don't understand you," I enunciated, shaking my head.

My captor sighed and his shoulders sank. He lifted his hand with his index finger pointed out and looked me directly in the eyes. He spoke slowly, wagging the finger at me once with each word. He was definitely giving me an order. However, before I could attempt to figure out what that order was, he turned on his side to go to sleep. I figured I had nothing better to do, and did the same. It was either stay here with my non-scary sadist captor, or run and risk being taken, killed, or eaten by Horn Helmet Guy.

So, stay and sleep I did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last edited: 8/17/17


	2. Me and My Captor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter I spell out some of what the protagonist does not know is the language of the Nords of Skyrim. Since we don't actually know what language they spoke (their culture is based on Scandinavian culture, but this is a another world, so they certainly don't speak Old Norse or the like), I used what little I could find online of Old Norse and fiddled around with it to be its own thing. Also, since this is written in the first person, I won't be translating anything that I write in the Nord language, but will rely on the protagonist's understanding of facial expressions and body language for her to interpret meaning. There is, however, a glossary at the end of the book.

Sleep I didn't.

Throughout the night, I stared at the vaulted stone ceiling, contemplating escape, contemplating getting caught, wondering if I could wriggle out of my new bonds. Soon, I felt those natural biological urges I always feared when there was no toilet in sight. I could have gone outside by myself, but I didn't want to run into Horn Helmet Guy alone. I looked over to my left and stared at a sleeping Sadist Guy. His blood-red war paint was turning brown and flaking off. It was real blood.

The need to do my business was getting worse, so I decided to kick my captor in the shins. He jumped awake, grumbled something under his breath, and glowered at me. I pushed myself to a standing position and motioned for him to come with me. Eventually he understood, and led me outside.

Once outside, I turned my back to him and wriggled my arms as best I could. I looked back at him.

"Untie me," I ordered, hoping he'd understand why I needed my hands. If these people didn't have any toilet paper, I was going to need to find a leaf. My captor narrowed his eyes and looked me up and down, eventually obliging and setting my hands free.

Business completed, I was led back toward the cave. Before we entered, my captor stopped and turned to me. He reached for my hand, but only held it, giving no indication that he was going to bind me again. He softly spoke several words that I strained to understand. When I stared at him blankly, my captor growled in frustration. He repeated himself, this time using his hands to help convey meanings. He pointed at me, then at himself, then roughly grasped my hand and slid his fingers between mine, pressing our palms together. He squeezed my hand tightly and then pointed back at the cave, all the while saying words. He then dropped my hand, pointed at me and them himself again, back at the cave, grasped the hilt of his dagger and swung it up to my neck, holding it way too close for comfort. He paused his speech to grasp my hand again. While holding my hand, he sheathed his dagger, pointed back at the cave, and then pulled me to him close enough to feel his breath on my face.

" _Vitas?"_  he asked.

 _Veetas?_   _Vitas... Vitas... Curriculum Vitae. No, idiot, these people are not Roman_.

I didn’t understand the words he spoke, but I thought I understood his meaning. With him equals life. Without him equals dagger to the throat. And by the way he pointed at the cave, I figured he meant that the others, at least Horn Helmet Guy, would kill me if I were not with him.

I looked around the edge of the thicket outside the cave and wondered what would happen if I just ran. What was out there in the woods?

I looked back at my captor and wondered why he was trying to keep me alive. I didn't understand any of it. A part of me wondered if he was trying to actually get me to trust him, to like him, so that one day I would just end up his friend, slave, whatever. When I looked back at the wilderness, my captor grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him. His hazel eyes showed how serious he was.

" _Vitas?"_  he repeated more insistently.

I frowned. I didn't understand where the hell I was, where my colleagues were, what this fucking language was and why these people didn't even know the slightest bit of English. But I did understand my captor's current sentiment. Staying with him meant living.

I sighed, and answered, " _Vitas."_

My captor showed a hint of a smile and pulled me closer to him. Apparently what I said did indeed mean "yes, I understand" to him. He whispered more words, none of which I understood, but two that he whispered several times stuck in my head.

" _Mina kune."_

" _Mina kune?"_ I repeated. My captor nodded slowly. He pointed to the cave, spoke more words, said " _mina kune"_  again, swooshed the air with his free hand, and then pulled me even closer to him. Too close. The man seriously needed a nice long swish of some minty mouthwash.

I began to feel very uncomfortable.

I still didn't fully comprehend the meaning of his words, but then he gently grasped my upper arm with his free hand and looked me in the eyes.

I thought about what those two words could mean.  _Mina_ , mine?

"Oh,” I breathed, hoping I was wrong. _Shit._

I thought about the various bits of languages that I knew.  _Mon, meine, meum, mío, meg..._

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit._

Whatever a  _kune_  was, I was his  _kune_. I watched him stare at me, replayed his hand gestures in my mind, recalled the dagger at my throat and then safely sheathed, recalled how my captor had not only shouted at scary Horn Helmet Guy, he actually took me to Doctor Lady to heal my injuries.

I wriggled out of his grasp and raised my hands in front of me, showing him my unbound wrists. I gave him an inquisitive look, but he just stared at me. I then gave him a look that said _Well, go on, do it!_ but my captor just shook his head.

Alright then. I lowered my hands to my sides.

My captor's defenses were completely down. I could have hit him, if I knew how. He had been all up in my face, intimately so, and had refused to bind my wrists again. Surely he wouldn't have expected for me to punch him. But, having never punched anyone, I didn't trust my untrained fists to actually do anything but get me in more trouble. I was also not a runner, not in the least, and the man would have certainly caught me.

Defeated and trapped, I sighed through a sob. If I ran, I would probably be captured again. If I left the protection of this man before me, Horn Helmet Guy would, apparently, kill me. And I still wasn't convinced these people weren't cannibals.

Maybe  _kune_  meant slave. _Great._

My captor reached for my hand again, once more intertwining his fingers with mine. He held his hand to his chest, and said a bunch of words. I shook my head.

"No, idiot, I still don't understand you."

The man growled in frustration. Again, he held his hand to his chest. "Thrynn _,"_ was all he said.

Thrin? Thrinn. Thryn? I didn't know that one.

 _Wait, is he really introducing himself? His slave?_ _Alright, I can play that game._

"Deborah," I said with my palm pressed to my chest.

My captor, Thrin, stepped back the instant he heard my name, dropping my hand and letting it fall to my side. Looking terrified and shocked, he stared at me, and then looked up and down my body as if realizing for the first time who or what I was.

When Thrin fell to his knees and gazed up at me with tears in his eyes, I was more confused than ever. When he crumbled to the ground and began to cry in a prostrate position, I knew something had been terribly misconstrued by my captor. I sincerely doubted I was whoever he thought me to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last edited: 8/18/17


	3. A Natural Weapon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: This chapter contains mild descriptions of sexual assault and general violence.
> 
> For reference on what I use to base my "Nord language" on, search online for "Old Norse Dictionary" and also check out Thuum.org.

"Um...."

I stared at Thrin as he sobbed at my feet. I cautiously looked around me, wondering if this was the best possible time to just make a run for it. I took one step back, but my captor didn't seem to notice. 

_This is it._

I bolted to my left, passing bushes and running downhill. I was barefoot and wearing a hide wrap as a skirt, but at least my bra was keeping my breasts from bouncing too much while I ran. Too soon I felt my lungs beginning to burn in the cold night air. I thought my best chance was to find a hiding place and hope the barbarian cult didn't care to look for me.

I couldn't see anything that looked familiar. Trees, rocks, bushes, flowers, a dirt road. It could have been my dig site surroundings, but I saw no sign of the crew's tents, nor the fence around the site, nor our equipment. Up ahead I saw a clearing and heard the sound of thunder. I ran toward the sound.

What I had thought was thunder was a raging river. Aided by moonlight I could see the rapids and fierce current. I couldn't see a way across, and I didn't feel like getting swept up in what was likely an ice-cold torrent. I panicked, turned to look from where I had come, but no one was following me. I let out a sigh of relief, allowing myself a moment to catch my breath.

Then came the shouting.

" _Tille!"_  I heard a man's voice shout. I looked up the hill and sure enough a barbarian was charging down, torch in one hand and sword in the other. Other barbarians followed.

_Fucking run!_

I broke right, following the river, dodging the occasional tree and bush. The my out-of-shape body and the tightness in my diaphragm were not helping my escape, but I might have gotten away were it not for me crashing into a hulking figure that ambushed me from behind a tree.

I screamed. I kicked. I did my best to get away from the hands that grasped my body, but I was pushed to the cold ground. When I heard the snarl, I thought the barbarians had turned their giant dog on me before they had a go. I was pinned down by my ambusher's foot. The man-beast was heavy, very heavy, and I thought I felt a rib crack. I inhaled sharply with the new pain and clawed at the dirt, trying to scramble onto my back. Not knowing who was attacking me, not knowing what was coming next made everything worse.

The shouting of the advancing barbarians grew louder, and the snarling more insistent. The weight on my back increased and I felt tiny spikes enter my flesh through my shirt.

Something _wooshed_ above me. Again. Again.  _Woosh, sploosh. Woosh, sploosh_. The weight on my back lessened and I was able to crawl away from whoever, whatever had been standing on me. I pushed myself to my feet and ran as fast I could with what was surely a broken rib, but was caught by another man.

My new captor's massive arms squeezed tight. The sharp pain in my side was unbearable. My breath stilled. The man grabbed me by my hair and dragged me back to where the first ambusher attacked me. I was thrown to the ground next to a large mass of fur. In the brief seconds that followed I strained to see in the torchlight what sort of animal the fur belonged to. Something about its head seemed odd.

Before I could get a good look I was grabbed by my waist and dragged backwards a small distance. I tried to kick but any movement sent my side into a fiery rage. I felt hands slide under my makeshift skirt. Fingers touched me in places they should not have. I cried for whoever was behind me to stop and squirmed as much as the pain would allow. When more sets of hands grabbed my arms, I knew struggling was futile. I sobbed, and waited to be raped.

" _Helta!"_ a voice called out from a distance. The movement behind me stopped and more men's shouts were exchanged. I squirmed again in an attempt to get away but was held by my arms and hips.

Angry words were exchanged between the man about to rape me and whoever had just arrived. I thought I heard my name spoken several times with an angry tone, and then I realized the man who had come was Thrin. The way he said my name was odd, but with all the shouting and whatever local accent he had I didn't think anything of it.

The man behind me with his hands grasping my hips laughed. He said my name oddly too, and then spoke more words which made several of his companions laugh. I felt fingers inside me again and I yelled in protest. My hair was yanked roughly backwards and a hand clamped over my mouth.

Victims should never blame themselves, no matter the circumstance. I knew this. But I had to wonder what would have happened had I just stayed with my momentarily bewildered captor Thrin, who had made no indication of the desire to rape or harm me in any way. Just the opposite, actually. Aside from keeping me in restraints, he had been practically benevolent. My gut instinct had been to stay with him, but instead of staying, I saw an opening for my escape and had taken it.

With a large hand pressed to my mouth, I could barely breathe. I heard more shouts – Thrin's, I guessed – and then a metallic swoosh. My thoughts fired. I wondered what that weird animal was. I wondered why Thrin reacted so oddly when I said my name. I wondered why these people had swords and not guns and didn’t know what a zipper was. Techno-phobes. Raping, smelly techno-phobes. I imagined Thrin wielding a sword and killing my rapist, but only more angry words were exchanged.

The futility of the situation and my beaten spirit were quickly replaced with the desire to kill everyone around me. I growled. I imagined myself bolting upright from my hands and knees, taking painful swings at whoever dared restrain me, biting down on the throat of the man behind me and tearing at his flesh. I remained on all fours, however, and my body began to shake. The growl that hard started from somewhere deep within me had increased in volume and became a muted roar.

The moment the man’s erection entered me, I felt my skin rip apart in an explosion of systemic pain. Every nerve ending in my body burst. I screamed, louder than I ever remembered screaming. The palms of my hands felt as if on fire. The invader's presence vanished from my hips and my loins, and with every ounce of energy I could muster, I pushed myself onto my knees.

The next moments were a complete blur, and my actions pure reflex.

My screams were unending. White-hot light shot forth from my hands and sent the men holding my arms crashing to their backs several meters away. I stood tall and assaulted anyone else around me, sparing no one. Screams and groans and shouts followed. When a man's voice bellowed my name with that strange pronunciation, the light from my hands vanished, and the pain in my side returned with a vengeance.

I sank to my knees and clung to my side, struggling to breath. I lifted my other hand and stared wide-eyed at the normal, unharmed pale flesh, wondering what had just happened.

I collapsed onto my back and stared at the night sky, and willing the trees to stop spinning. My vision worsened. I was seeing two of everything. I even saw two moons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last edited: 8/17/17


	4. Charades

When I came to, I was once again on a bed in Doctor Lady’s room. I sat up, ready to defend myself against an attack that never came. I was panting, whining, and the doctor said something under her breath and walked away. I felt no pain in my side, so I figured she had healed my broken rib.

And then I remembered what happened outside the cave by the river.

I looked around the large room, frantically looking for Thrin. He was the only person I held any semblance of a trusting relationship with here, except perhaps for Doctor Lady. I stood from the bed and walked toward the doorway that led to other parts of the cave.

" _Hei_ ," a man said. I turned to find Thrin, standing right there at the exit.

The moment I saw him, I broke down in tears. I held onto him as if he had some kind of obligation to comfort me. I lost some stability in my legs, and Thrin had to support me and take me back into Doctor Lady's room. He sat me back down on the bed and crouched in front of me, then muttered several soft words. I wiped my eyes and tried to stop crying. I attempted to remember my limited training in Norwegian.

" _Hva?_ " What?

He said the same words more slowly, said my name in that weird way, and looked up at me with his soft, hopeful eyes. He had since tied his brown hair back into a half ponytail.

I was at a loss. I had no idea what he was saying. Thrin was obviously frustrated too, because he sighed and sat back on his heels, giving up on whatever message he was trying to convey. He stood, paced back and forth for a few minutes, turned to me, then grabbed a chair from the front of the room and placed it near the bed. He leaned forward with his hand outstretched to me, palm up. He gave me a look that said to give him my hand, so I did.

He then pointed to my hand and said, " _Hant."_ He pointed to the large candle on the side table and said, " _Kagend_ ," and then looked back at me. He repeated the motions, then with his free hand, he made a gesture that I recognized as meaning explosion. He made the gesture to signify that something exploded from my hands, I thought. He then held his hand over his heart, mimicked the rhythm of its beating, and then held his hand still. He repeated the explosion gesture from my hand, said " _Hant kaget,_ " and then again, the stilled heartbeat. He held up two fingers and grabbed my upper arm with force. I jumped and stared at him for a minute, wondering what the hell he was charading. When he made the explosion gesture a third time, I grasped his wrist and stared at him, wide-eyed.

I didn't dream it, the attack in the woods. I knew the rape had happened; I remembered that vividly, physically, despite the doctor healing me to the point where no wounds remained. But the gestures Thrin was making, they were about my retaliation, my attack on those who attacked me. I was convinced I had dreamed that part, the searing pain felt all over my body, the heat spouting from my fingertips. I held out my hand in front of me, fingers spread, examining the flesh and wondering how on Earth it had happened.

My arms. Men had been grasping my arms, and they were the first to be hit by my light. I remembered seeing one of them flying through the air and landing a good distance away from me. From what Thrin charaded, it seemed both of them died. I had stopped their hearts. Stopped their hearts with my hands. With an explosion of light from my hands.

Thrin grasped my shoulder and shook me gently to get my attention. " _Froth,"_  he said, clenching my hand in his. He then said more words I did not understand. He said my name.

I shook my head. "I don't understand, Thrin." I was crying again.

The man sighed, bowed his head, then looked at me. " _D’ers Dibella, nei?"_

While he once again mispronounced my name, he stood and did a strange pose with his hips pushed to the side and his hands atop his head, fingers flared out in a kind of star burst.

I stifled a laugh. It was time I corrected him. "No, it's Deborah. Deh-bor-ah. Deborah. Deb, if you want. Just not Debbie or Debra, please."

Thrin stared at me. " _Ki Dibella?"_

I sighed. "DEHHH-BORRR-AHHH." I was beginning to think this guy was a bit on the slow side.

Thrin's expression changed from hopeful to shocked. He smoothed his hand down his scruffy face and groaned, flaking off the rest of his dried-blood war paint. He scratched the back of his neck and his expression changed to sheepish.

Sheepish?  _What the hell, guy._  I was getting a headache, and rubbed my temples.

Doctor Lady walked up to Thrin and muttered something under her breath. She then made it a point to show me her eye roll, aimed at me.

_What the hell did_ _I_ _do?_

When a tall, scary-looking man with intricate facial tattoos walked up to the doctor's doorway, Thrin immediately turned to Doctor Lady, made an odd hissing noise with his mouth, and then approached the man at the doorway. They had an animated conversation. Thrin appeared angry at the scary man, who obviously wanted to come in, but Thrin wouldn't let him. Instead, he grabbed whatever the man held in a sack and carried it back over to me with a dire look on his face. The scary man walked away, laughing.

I pointed to the bulging sack. " _Hva... er?_ " I asked what it was in bad Norwegian.

Thrin animatedly shook his head and backed away, holding the sack tightly against his torso.

I reached out for it and he backed out of reach. " _Nei, nei_.” He set the sack down in the hallway then came back over to me.

" _Hlitha,_ " he said, " _vler_ ”—he pointed toward the hallway—" _truen d’ers Dibella."_  He was pointing at me, speaking slowly and enunciating with care. _“Truen d’ers mina kune."_ He pointed at himself. _"Eth, Garthek…."_  He used his fingers to mimic horns on top of his head.

Understood. Garthek equaled Horn Helmet Guy.

Thrin continued. _"Garthek ki true. Garthek fysa... da... dath."_  With those last three words he jabbed his index finger at my sternum. It hurt. Maybe that was the point. _"Sitja med zeik,"_ he pointed at himself.  _"Sitja med zeik ath lafa."_

With that last sentence he held my hands in his. His eyes were pleading with me to do something, perhaps say something or agree with what he said. I thought I'd seen this look in his eyes before.

One of the last words he said rang a bell, but I didn't know if it was by coincidence or because it meant something similar in any of the various languages I dabbled in.

" _Sit... Sitte... ja?"_  It was sort of the same in German.  _Sitzen, ja._  Sit, yes. Could he have been saying something similar? I doubted it, but I went with my gut instinct.

He gave a slight nod. " _Sitja_ ," he repeated. " _Sitja med zeik her."_ He held his hand to his chest.

" _Sitte... sitja, hier_?" I pointed at the bed.

Thrin shook his head and pointed at the cave floor. " _Her._ " He indicated the room or, I guessed, the cave in general. " _Her. Med zeik."_ He held his hand to his chest again. _"Lafa med zeik."_

If I understood Thrin correctly, and it was possible that I didn’t, he was telling me to stay here in this cave. With him. Recalling his demonstration earlier with the dagger, he was still protecting me. Perhaps he was just reminding me that without him, I'd have a dagger at my throat or unwanted appendages inside me. I shuddered at the memory.

And then Thrin grasped my hand again. " _Vitas?_ " He smiled, but to me he looked very worried.

I squeezed his hand gently. He had said that word before. " _Vitas,"_  I replied.

Thrin nodded in acknowledgment and led me out of Doctor Lady's room. He grabbed the sack that he had placed by the doorway, turned back to the doctor, shouted something, tossed the sack into her room, and laughed. He grinned at me for whatever reason and walked me to somewhere else in the cave.

"What was in the sack?" I asked.

My captor-protector looked at me, expressionless. I made a motion indicating a big round thing.

Thrin laughed. " _Klovt se gifik."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last edited: 8/17/17


	5. Bones to Pick

Stockholm Syndrome. That’s what this was. Living amongst my captors, finally allowed to walk around and do things on my own. Being trusted not to run away, and trusting my captors not to harm me so long as I didn’t run or fight.

After the rape, I wasn’t bound ever again. I had Thrin to thank for that.

Despite not being able to communicate with anyone, I managed to have a relatively good time with one of Thrin’s friends, Siv. Today we were down by the river, washing our clothes and bodies while Thrin and other men were doing something not far away. Well,  _I_ washed my clothes, at least my cotton shirt and bra. Siv wore leather armor. I had no idea if leather armor could be washed, so I assumed this was why it smelled like a rotting carcass.

Siv marveled at my simple but efficient sports bra after I had set it out to dry in the sun. Her breasts were tiny and she barely needed the chest wrapping that she used for support. I, however, would be in Jiggle City without a real bra. I hoped my relationship with Siv stayed on good terms. In a week or so I would be needing more help from a woman.

Even though Siv and I were naked, she led me by hand to an area just across the river, the speed of which had calmed since the other night and was easily crossable. There was a rock shelter just a short walk away, and flies were flitting around a somewhat fresh deer carcass. I also spotted the dried, disjointed skeleton of a human.

Siv said something about a _gifik_ and I guessed it was some sort of animal quasi-den. She made gestures that seemed like she was mimicking a monster of some sort, but naturally I didn't follow. I figured she meant a bear.

I walked up to the sun-bleached human skull and picked it up. Yep, male. It had a heavy brow ridge with a dip just below the forehead to place my finger, as well as robust mastoid processes. I searched for the pelvis and saw that it too was definitely male. Hyper-male, some would say. A manly man. I examined other parts of the skull, such as the nasal aperture and the palatine sutures, the squiggly lines where the bones of the roof of the mouth fit together. His teeth were in a good amount of occlusal wear, but still in good shape. Any biological anthropologist would have called this person an adult male of European descent, though there was something odd about the palatine sutures. These particular sutures hinted at geographic origin, and this pattern was very different from any I’d ever seen.

I gently laid the skull back down and moved on to the deer carcass. I smelled the rotting meat and decided to leave it alone. I didn't need its skull or bones. We were nowhere near my lab, anyway. Cleaning the skeleton for amusement and, of course, scientific reasons, would not have been seen by these people – most people, in fact – as normal.

It took me ages to realize that Thrin and two of his male friends were sitting on the opposite bank of the river, feet dangling in the water, enjoying the show of two naked women poking around in a small boneyard. Upon seeing them I yelped and darted behind Siv, who by comparison to myself was quite skinny, however muscular, and a bit shorter. Her frame barely hid mine. At my reaction, everyone but me started cackling. Thrin's friends fell to their backs in a fit of laughter. Thrin was turning red and attempting to stifle his own amusement. He stood, still laughing, and said something while picking up Siv's and my clothing. He tossed them in a big ball across the water to us. Siv shouted something back. She picked up our mass of clothing and handed me mine, then muttered something I assumed was something akin to "fucking men."

. . . . . .

That night, when I went outside to do my business, I noticed something peculiar in the sky. It had been cloudy, so I hadn't seen it before. I searched for an opening in the surrounding canopy, and froze when I confirmed what I thought I saw.

Two moons. Two. One big, one small.

This was not my world. This couldn’t have been my world. Unless I was currently in another dimension where Earth had two moons, this wasn't even Earth I was standing on. Two moons. Leather clothing. Torches. Swords. No zippers. If this wasn't Earth, then these people were not Norwegian, not even ancient Norse people. Their language was similar, however, otherwise I would not have been able to understand certain words.

I thought back to what had happened to me. I fell into the cave, hit my head, and woke up completely removed from my colleagues. It felt like the plot of some Sci-Fi story. This wasn't time travel, since we were not on Earth. Wormholes. Yes, a celestial gateway to another dimension or planet or universe. I thought of all the "Doctor Who" episodes I'd seen. Time And Relative Dimension In Space. I had fallen into the cave and traveled through a wormhole. Maybe I was actually in a coma in some hospital in Norway and all of this – Thrin, swords, leather – was all a coma dream. Which was worse, wormholes or comas?

Somehow I ended up sitting at the base of a tall evergreen. Entranced by my own thoughts, I didn’t notice Thrin stomping up to me, looking concerned or angry.

I stood up and asked, " _Hva?"_   _What? What do you want? Can't you see I'm having an existential crisis?_

Thrin clutched my hand and started to pull me back to the cave, but I yanked my hand away.

"Wait! Thrin, look!" I pointed to the two crescent moons. "Two moons!" I held up two fingers and stared at him with my best crazy wide-eyed look.

Thrin just shrugged. He pulled me after him again, but I pulled him back. I pointed to the sky, then to me and held up one finger. I pointed to the sky, then to him and held up two fingers. I hoped to hell he understood, because I was freaking out, and I needed someone to understand that I wasn't in my own world.

Thrin raised an eyebrow and looked up, then back at me. I pointed to the moons again and insistently held up one finger, shaking it as if to say "No, there is only one moon, dammit!"

Thrin frowned, sighed, and then reached out and grabbed my extended finger. He folded it down and grasped my hand. He didn't understand why I was freaking out. Instead, he probably thought I was crazy, and was disappointed that he was now stuck protecting a crazy foreigner.

He pulled my arm yet again. This time I reluctantly followed for a few steps, but eventually planted my feet on the ground. Thrin, clearly annoyed, turned to me and stood but a breath’s distance from my face. His reprimanding, incomprehensible shouts went on for about half a minute.

Unflinching and glaring right back at him, I slowly wiped his spittle from my cheek and mouth before I shouted plenty of words and obscenities of my own.

_“No, I will not fucking calm down. No, I still don't fucking understand you. No, this is not fucking normal for me. No, there is only_ _one_ _goddamn moon._ _No_ _, I_ _don't_ _want to live with a bunch of goddamn barbarians in a fucking cave. No, I am_ _not_ _alright with being_ _protected_ _and I am_ _not_ _alright with needing fucking protection from fucking barbarians!”_

As I shouted at Thrin, I jabbed him in the chest repeatedly, surely making several small bruises by the end of my tirade. He walked backwards as I screamed, listening in earnest to everything I said, or perhaps too terrified to look away.

Eyes on me, Thrin backed into a boulder the size of a small car. My savior-captor was stuck between a rock and a pissed-off woman, and his expression said he knew it.

And then, he kissed me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last edited: 8/17/17


	6. Of Gifiks and Gullirs

**Chapter 6 – Of Gifiks and Gullirs**

 

Nothing about the kiss was romantic. I’d been kissed like this before, a long time ago before I met my ex-husband. This kiss said “I’m gonna fuck you like an animal,” not “you’re sweet, let’s date.” Thrin pressed his lips against mine, hard, and I felt his teeth tug gently on my lower lip. The embrace caught me off guard, and I reacted on instinct. Eventually I opened my mouth, allowing his tongue to explore. I did find Thrin attractive, despite my being his slave or whatever, and despite his body odor and bad breath.

As an archaeologist, I had smelled worse on colleagues in the field. My breath was likely no better, seeming as how the people here brushed their teeth with the splayed ends of freshly broken green twigs.

I admitted to myself that his kiss calmed me. Maybe that was the point – to shut me up, force me to stop attacking him with my finger.

All of my worries melted away through Thrin’s kiss, but when one of his hands grabbed and squeezed my ass, many worries came flooding back. I pushed myself away from him and raised my hand to my lips. They tingled from the lingering sensation of his touch. I stared at him wide-eyed as the still-fresh memory of my rape played back in my mind’s eye.

I knew if I ran, Thrin would run after me, so I walked as calmly as possible back to the cave without saying a word. I knew Thrin was following me, but I didn’t care. I just wanted peace, to be left alone, to forget about the fact that I was in some other dimension being kissed by a barbarian who was protecting me from other barbarians.

I found my way back to the doctor’s room, entered and walked straight to the bed I had first been healed on. I sat on the mattress with my back against the cave wall and tucked my knees against my chest. Doctor Lady came over to see what was wrong. I couldn’t tell her that it was just my mind and spirit that was broken.

Thrin walked in, looked at me, and stood leaning on the doorway with his arms crossed. He said some words in an annoyed tone. I didn’t care. I looked away, not acknowledging his presence. In that moment the only thing I allowed myself to think about was my dog Sam. He was staying with my mother while I was out of the country. I tried not to cry.

Doctor Lady said something to Thrin, and out of the corner of my eye I watched him walk up to her. She handed him a sack that looked heavy. She said something to Thrin that made him giggle like a kid who was just given candy. He walked over to me and placed the sack on the mattress at my feet.

“ _Haus se gifik,”_ he said, smiling triumphantly.

I leaned forward, somewhat intrigued, and tentatively opened the sack. What I saw inside looked like bone, and I was confused. I opened the sack further to find the skull of some sort of animal. I looked up at Thrin. He nodded in encouragement. I reached in and grasped the skull. It was incredibly heavy. When I pulled it out I orientated its face toward me.

This was no bear, or the skull of any other animal I had ever seen.

The brain case was far too big. Human big. This skull had a third eye socket above the normal two, forming a triangle of small orbits. Its teeth were massive, like that of a male gorilla. In fact, most of its facial structure mimicked that of a male gorilla. But two rows of small horns on the top of its cranium flanked its small sagittal crest, the ridge of bone in the middle of the cranium that anchored the strong masseter muscles of some species.

But this was definitely no gorilla, not even a mutant one, unless gorillas here had three times as much brain capacity.

I looked up at Thrin while holding the heavy skull. He smiled and said some words; I heard that word _gifik_ again. He placed his palm on his chest and grinned. His hand and arm then swept out towards me.

I could have been wrong, of course, but to me that gesture meant, “I am giving this to you.”

I thought back to what Siv had said while we examined that rock shelter. She had said that word, _gifik_ , and made motions mimicking a monster. Monster. Rockshelter. Dead man. Dead deer. Big, horned, three-eyed gorilla-man.

Whatever owned this skull was apparently called a _gifik_. I said the word aloud to Thrin, who smiled enthusiastically and nodded. He said more words, made the motions of an archer loosing his arrows, then something falling over, and then pointed at the skull.

 _Oh, god_. This must have been the thing that had ambushed me in the woods. I recalled the sound of what I thought had been arrows entering flesh above me, and the dead furry creature lying next to me while I was being raped. I decide that this _gifik_ thing was something like an ogre, or troll.

Why Thrin was gifting me its skull, I had no idea, but a strange smile crossed his face as he watched me handle the thing. I gave him a questioning look, put the skull back in the sack, and placed the heavy load on the floor. I then reclined on the bed and turned my back to Thrin.

He said my name a few times between words I didn’t understand. I heard him breathing behind me for a while. I then heard Doctor Lady’s annoyed voice. A minute or so later, Thrin walked off.

I finally relaxed and thought I might spend the night here instead of on my ridiculously thin bedroll next to Thrin, but after maybe ten minutes Doctor Lady shooed me away.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered at the old woman, and found my way back to my sleeping quarters. I reluctantly crawled onto my bedroll and, eventually, pretended to sleep.

 

After what must have been an hour later I heard quiet murmuring behind me. I didn’t really care, since I doubted I would have gotten much sleep that night anyway. It was only when the sound of pleasure-filled kissing entered my ears that I became annoyed. Then came a moan from a man lying directly adjacent to me. I wondered what the hell was going on, particularly since Thrin had so blatantly tried to put the moves on me earlier. For whatever reason, I felt jealous. I lay there, motionless, pretending not to hear anything. The moans increased in volume and I heard the unmistakable sounds of someone fellating a man.

Insomnia, intrigue, and annoyance drove me to flip onto my back and then turn my head to get a glimpse of the people creating the sounds. Though only a handful of candles lit the large room full of sleeping people, I could see Thrin, hands cradling his head, watching a blonde woman I didn’t know the name of polish his broadsword. Thrin turned his head and looked at me. I couldn’t interpret his expression. He was neither smiling nor frowning. His expression appeared almost neutral, but not quite. The look may have been something of a mix between “too late” and “wanna join?” Mortified, I turned away and lay with my back to him again.

I understood, or at least I thought I did. Thrin wanted me but I didn’t comply, so here he was getting some action anyway. Of course he was. For whatever reason, I cared.

The session between Thrin and Blondie lasted a relative eternity, and I couldn’t help but feel a little turned on and frustrated by the sounds and my brief glimpse of Thrin’s substantial erection. I forced those thoughts out of my head.

Thrin was my captor. Thrin smelled. He was definitely not someone I would be interested in for sex.

I busied my mind by wondering if Doctor Lady could heal sexually transmitted diseases as well as bones, skin, and sight.

My stomach told me that morning finally came. Though I walked briskly out of the sleeping area, I was unable to ignore the sight of a naked Thrin and Blondie sleeping contently, molded to one another’s perfect bodies.

. . . . . .

For the next several days, I diligently avoided Thrin, electing instead to spend time with Siv who took it upon herself to teach me their language.

In the mornings she took me upriver where we could sit in peace and do some fishing.

 _Fikin_ , fish. _Flot_ , river. _Sten_ , rock.

The mental distraction from every single other problem I had, which now included lady pains and my monthly mess, was an incredibly welcomed one. So was the tea that Doctor Lady gave me, which somewhat dulled my discomfort.

I decided I liked Siv best. For a barbarian, she was a decent human being.

At midday we returned to the _gullir_ , cave, and found what I guessed was the entire band of people gathered in the largest room of the cave structure. Horn Helmet Guy, whose name I forgot but started with a G, stared at me and Siv as we held our half-dozen fish. I started to walk onwards toward the cooking and dining area but Siv whispered “S _itja,”_ for me to stay, so stay I did.

Horn Helmet Guy was addressing the rest of the barbarians. Thrin stood in the back of the room with his thick arms crossed over his chest and a deep frown on his face. Horn Helmet Guy, who I suspected was the group’s leader, dismissed the barbarians who talked excitedly as they exited the room. I watched as Thrin walked up to the leader and argued, but Siv pulled me away towards the cooking area.

 

I went to bed early that night. Too soon, I was poked awake. I heard Thrin’s voice speaking forcefully, and it took me a moment to realize he was telling me to get up. I muttered curses at him and rubbed my eyes.

Looking around, I realized the entire sleeping quarter was empty except for me and Thrin. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. When I saw the glint of metal on his back and a knapsack hugging his side, I felt a knot in my stomach.

The barbarians were on the move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last edited: 8/17/17


	7. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence.

 

Thrin helped me dress in some leather armor. He then handed me what looked like a fur cloak. The armor didn’t look like what the other women wore, and I realized I was wearing typical men’s armor.

I then realized I was _wearing armor._ I gave Thrin an inquisitive look but he wasted no time, and out of the cave we went. If the group was headed elsewhere, I was grateful for the extra protection.

The hike somewhere north took forever. Carrying the heavy fur cloak, which was not needed as I was sweating profusely, made the trek all the more difficult. The leather boots I was given did not fit well, and my feet hurt. Even in good hiking shoes, I was not built for long-distance foot travel. If it weren’t for the pressure of the rest of the group keeping to pace for what must have been several hours, and if Thrin and Siv hadn’t been at my side the entire time, I would have given up a long time ago.

After a very short break midday to fill canteens by a river and eat some bland, dry cakes, we were off again. The sun must have been an hour from setting when the leader called for us to stop. We had trekked for an entire day. Against the wind. Uphill. I collapsed, and watched everyone around me make camp.

 

During the night, I had considered running again. We had passed a river, which could have led me to a town. A city. Civilization. Farmers, maybe, instead of barbarians. While I fantasized about my escape, the night guards passively reminded me of Horn Helmet Guy’s presence, and of Thrin’s warning. I was Thrin’s, and Thrin protected his property. Without my captor-savior, I was as good as dead, or worse. If I ran again, Thrin might not be able to stop further punishment. I was petrified by indecision.

Dawn came, ending my chance at freedom.

As we marched, the weather grew colder, and eventually I saw a snowy landscape to the north and mountains in the east. When the group approached a dirt road, they stopped. I took advantage of the pause and fell to the ground, my feet rejoicing in the sudden relief. Siv nudged my side with her foot and laughed. Thrin said something under his breath, but the two let me lay there until we started moving again.

Hours later, I finally had need for my fur cloak. The landscape was covered with deep snow, and walking was difficult. My lungs burned as much as my legs. I attempted to listen to conversations between barbarians as we walked. It was a decent distraction from the pain felt throughout my body, even if I understood nothing.

When we came to another road, the group stopped again. Thrin grabbed my upper arm. He turned to me, eyes conveying worry.

Without further warning, the entire band charged forward. Screaming. Bellowing. Whooping. Brandishing weapons, and bashing their shields.

I stood back and watched as the barbarians – Thrin, Siv, everyone – stormed a group of ordinary people, the first non-barbarian-like people I had seen since waking in this world. About two dozen men, women, and children dressed in simple garments ran screaming from their horse-drawn carts. Doctor Lady, despite her advanced age, had marched with the rest of us. She began shooting bursts of fire.

Bursts of fire. From her hands.

I was horrified at the unfolding scene. Men were bleeding and on fire. An arm flew through the air as it was violently separated from its owner. Women ran away with their children. Older boys defended their mothers with daggers and shovels and pitchforks.

Farmers. These people were farmers.

“Stop it!” I shouted at the barbarians, ignored.

I felt guilty. I was with these people, these barbarians that killed innocent men. And for what? Food, a few cattle, and some pitchforks? Within the span of several heartbeats, every single male farmer over the age of ten or so was dead. The smell of blood and spilled guts saturated the air. Body parts littered the road. Cabbages and potatoes were painted red.

I heard the cries of women and children from the other side of a short hill and ran to them. They had become trapped in a sort of gully, surrounded by the barbarian horde. Every single one of them was crying.

Horn Helmet Guy stepped to the front of the line of barbarians and walked up to a young woman with long blonde braids. With a blood-soaked hand, the leader painted one of the braids red. The woman whimpered.

I was as helpless as the cowering farm folk. I couldn’t stop this. I couldn’t help them. I watched as Horn Helmet Guy advanced on the blonde woman and licked her cheek, smearing blood and dirt on her. I felt a tightness in my stomach and was reminded of how I, too, was treated by these barbarians. Barbarians who captured and raped women. What did they do to children?

Horn Helmet Guy grabbed the blonde woman by the waist, flung her over his shoulder, and walked away from the rest of the crowd. The women and children screamed for their sister, friend, mother, daughter. A bald man yelled at them, and they stopped screaming. Out of sight, the blonde with braids screamed from what I guessed were the unwanted touches and penetrations of Horn Helmet Guy.

My fingers clenched and unclenched in cycles. A tingling sensation coursed through my body.

This was what pure rage felt like.

I stomped toward where Horn Helmet Guy had gone, but halted briefly when I heard a man scream from the direction I was headed. I ran the rest of the way and was stunned to see the woman with braids standing over Horn Helmet Guy with an oddly-shaped dagger, the shining blade dripping with blood. Horn Helmet Guy quickly rose to his feet. He was grasping one hand with the other; the blonde had stabbed his hand. I decided that I liked the woman with the braids.

Horn Helmet Guy snarled at the woman, and wasted no time running her through with his sword. I screamed, and Horn Helmet Guy looked up at me, a maniacal smile decorating his bloody lower face. The woman fell to the ground, and when the barbarian leader withdrew his sword, blood spurt from the wound.

Siv shouted something in anger at the leader, but he ignored her. He walked back to the front of the group of barbarians, glared at the cowering women and children, and enunciated three words: “ _Dripa… hvera… mella.”_

The farm folk cried out again. Mothers hugged their children.

Thrin turned in shock toward Horn Helmet Guy. “ _Dripa? Hvi?”_ He then shouted words in anger, protesting whatever Horn Helmet Guy had ordered.

The barbarian leader growled, pointed his bloody sword at Thrin, and muttered, _“Dripa en Thrin.”_

A bald man and the scary-looking one with intricate facial tattoos advanced on Thrin, sneering and drawing their weapons.

I understood. Thrin was protesting the killing of the women and children. They were going to kill Thrin for protesting. With Thrin dead, I would belong to Horn Helmet Guy. I would end up like the woman with the braids.

My body trembled. I couldn’t let this happen. I had no weapon, but I had to defend Thrin. Besides Siv, he was the only person here that I trusted. He and Siv and all the others had slaughtered those men without a thought, but the rest of the barbarians were going to kill these women and children because one dared defend herself against being raped by Horn Helmet Guy.

No. Despite his other actions, Thrin deserved to be saved, if for no other reason than to help save these women and children, and to protect me.

The tingling sensation in my body returned. My hands began to hurt, as if nerve endings were firing in retaliation for having been neglected blood flow.

Thrin raised his sword and shield in a defensive stance. Siv and three men joined him at his sides. And, to my surprise, so did Doctor Lady. They raised their weapons against the advancing men. Doctor Lady’s palms were set aflame, but she gave no indication of being in pain.

The tingling in my hands spread to my fingertips. When the two men raised their swords against Thrin and Siv, I screamed.

“ _Neiii!”_ The sound was long, drawn-out, and terrified even myself. I felt a familiar feeling from the night I was raped.

Defense.

Lightning, emanating from my hands, hit Thrin’s attackers on their chests. Their bodies flew back as if hit by a truck. The pain in my hands receded when the lightning vanished. I stood, hand held out before me, unsure what had just happened.

Siv and Thrin and their friends screamed and advanced toward the rest of the barbarians. I felt helpless watching. I had no idea what had happened, how I had killed men with lightning. I didn’t want to shoot into the mess of leather and metal for fear of hitting those I had intended to save.

Instead, I looked at the women and children, and then approached. They watched me, panicked. I understood. I was dressed like a barbarian. I just killed two men. I was scary. But I made a motion for them to follow me, and a moment later, they did. I led them back to their carts, but their horses were gone. The women gathered bags and knapsacks and pitchforks, then ushered the children along the road, away from the fray.

The farm folk left with few belongings, and without their husbands, brothers, fathers, but they were alive. All but the woman with the braids.

A sudden tug of my ponytail and I was wrenched to the ground. The impact on the hard-packed and cold dirt road knocked the wind out of me, and my attacker had no problem landing a good, hard kick against my ribs. And then another. Another. I felt my elbow receive a blow, and then my cheek. There were more than two feet.

Over the sound of my own bones cracking and my heart pounding in my head, I heard a woman shout with ferocity. I caught a glimpse of flowing, dark-brown hair and knew Siv had come to my rescue. A sword entered flesh. A body fell. More squishing sounds. A second body.

Siv knelt down at my side and examined my face and body. I didn’t understand her words, but they were soothing.

The woman smiled warmly until her entire body jerked and a third heavy squishing sound invaded my ears. Siv’s eyes widened, pleading, shocked. I stared into her eyes until blood began to ooze from her mouth. I screamed, but my breath caught on the pain in my chest.

Siv’s murderer stood above us. He placed a foot on Siv’s back, pressed her flat onto me, and then yanked his axe from her corpse.  He smirked as he wiped Siv’s blood onto his armor. He then turned to me.

My hands were wrapped around my friend’s head and torso. I thought for a moment that I could use her body as a shield, however horrible that was, but her murderer kicked her body off of me.

I was broken, bruised, and covered with the blood of my dead friend. My will to live faded. I waited for the axe to enter my body.

A man shouted to my left, but I couldn’t turn my neck to see who it was. Siv’s murderer relaxed his muscles and stepped away.

Horn Helmet Guy took his place.

The barbarian leader smiled down at me. He handed Siv’s murderer his sword, reached up to his head, and removed his horned helmet to reveal the devil underneath. The leader had bright blue eyes, greying red hair, and various scars. He tossed his helmet to the ground and retrieved his sword from Siv’s murderer.

I braced myself for impalement, but it never came. The leader walked around me, kicking me several times, no doubt relishing in my yelps and wails.

Will to live partially revived, I tried to make the lightning return to my hands, but all I felt was a slight tingle before the sensation faded entirely. Whatever power I had manifested was no more, leaving me utterly defenseless. I felt around for Siv, who had carried several weapons, but her body was too far away.

I sobbed, and the leader and Siv’s murderer laughed. I felt something poke my abdomen. The leader was standing above me, so I assumed it was the tip of his sword.

 _Just do it_. _Please, let me die._

I felt weight on my legs. I saw out of the corner of my eye someone walk towards my head. Hands grabbed my wrists and lifted my arms above me. Searing pain traveled up and down my sides. Both men laughed.

The leader grabbed my face. Fingernails pressed into my lower cheek. He said words in a low, angry voice while he tugged at my armor with his other hand. One of his knees pressed into my abdomen and I felt my insides condense.

I had expected to be raped, or perhaps beaten to death. I hadn’t expected to feel cold steel against my inner thigh. The leader muttered more words, and then I felt the sting of nerves being sliced. I screamed. If Horn Helmet Guy hadn’t been sitting on my legs, I would have instinctively jerked or kicked, and he could have unintentionally sliced my femoral artery. I would have bled out relatively quickly. I wasn’t allowed even that.

The leader’s hand covered my mouth as his sword sliced the other thigh. My body trembled under the slow drag of steel against flesh, dug slightly deeper this second time.

Everything hurt. I couldn’t scream. The cold, flat side of the sword pressed against my leg, and I whimpered.

For the first time in my life, I thought that guns were a great invention. One bullet to the head, dead.

 _Woosh_ , _sploosh_. An arrow entered a body. _Woosh, sploosh._ The grip on my arms lessened and finally left altogether, but I was in too much pain to move. The leader looked away, then back at me. He raised his sword. Fury flashed in his eyes. He was still sitting on my legs, and I couldn’t break away. I closed my eyes and waited to die.

 _Woosh,_ _sploosh. Woosh, sploosh._ The leader’s weight on my body lessened. Something fell to the road next to me.

I opened my eyes. One arrow had entered between the leader’s ribs and lungs. Another had pierced his neck. His blue eyes looked down at me, surprised. Foamy blood gurgled out of his mouth and down his chin before he collapsed on top of me.

I heard my name being shouted by a man. The leader’s body was rolled off of mine, and then kneeling before me was a battered and bloody Thrin. I heard more shouts from a short distance away, but Thrin didn’t seem concerned. His grimy hand briefly caressed my cheek before he left my side. I heard shouts and grunts and sounds of exertion. I managed to slowly turn my head toward the commotion, and saw Thrin kicking the leader’s lifeless body. I didn’t want to watch as Thrin’s sword separated the leader’s head from his neck, but my own neck refused to turn again, and my eyes shut too late.

Silently, I wept. I heard talking and shouting around me. A few minutes later I felt hands grasp my body. I looked up to see Thrin’s kind hazel eyes and blood-smeared face speaking to me. I just stared at him. Thrin lifted me to my feet, and somehow managed to get me walking, with his help, over to somewhere. I heard what sounded like the snort of a horse.

Thrin helped me mount the wide, stocky animal. He then straddled the horse behind me with an arm around my waist. He made a clicking sound, and the horse rose to its feet. The movement and pressure of Thrin’s arm around me caused my sides to scream and me with them. Thrin muttered some soft words into my ear which quieted me somewhat. I whimpered as Thrin kicked the horse into a sort of canter, which sent jolts of pain through my body with every stride.

 

I must have passed out from the pain, because when I woke up, I was staring at a wood-beam ceiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last edited: 8/17/17


	8. The Light

I woke up to the sound of Thrin snoring and a fire crackling. The wood beams I was staring up at were not of any room in the cave I had been staying in for however long I was with the barbarians. I was pleased to find that I was sleeping in an actual bed with an actual mattress, though it smelled like wet dog. I tried to sit up, but my side screamed and I yelped in pain before lying back down.

And then I saw Siv dying, felt a blade drag against my thigh.

I cried. Crying hurt my broken body, which caused me to choke from lack of proper breathing, which made me cry more.

Thrin stirred. I didn't want to wake him; I didn't want anyone to see me like this. He said something in a quiet voice, felt my forehead, cheek, chest, leg. I didn't think anything of it until I felt a stinging cold against both of my inner thighs and the screaming side of my chest. I gasped, and felt with my hand what Thrin had placed against me. Snow. Hard-packed, icy snow. It felt amazing.

"Ice." I exhaled the word.

" _Iz_ ," Thrin said.

I opened my eyes and attempted a smile. " _Iz_."

" _Skeyr."_  He touched my inner thigh and moved his finger in a long stroke.

I repeated the word.

" _Hjor,"_ I heard Thrin say. 

Again I repeated. Thrin knew I wasn't paying attention – I had shut my eyes – and he tapped my elbow. He was holding up a sword. " _Hjor."_

That was Horn Helmet Guy's sword, or one just like it. I doubted I would ever forget what it looked like, or what it felt like as the cold blade had cut into my skin. My body quaked as weeping took over again.

I felt a consoling hand on my shoulder. Thrin lay back in bed, and let me use him as a pillow, a towel, a friend.

. . . . . .

I was woken up later by the sting of more ice. My half of the bed and my clothes were soaked, but I was in a little less pain. Thrin said something about a  _karakras_ and I figured he'd either meant infection or fever, because I was sure I had both. I wasn't surprised. Thrin placed a cold, damp cloth on my forehead. It was only then that I noticed how beat up _he_ was.

Thrin's left eye was surrounded by purple, puffy flesh. His nose was possibly broken. He had a bloody rag wrapped around his upper right arm, a welt the size of my fist on his right torso, and countless other cuts and scrapes and bruises on just the upper half of his body. I didn't know where we were, but I hoped we had enough supplies to keep us both from dying.

I raised my arm and gently placed my hand on Thrin's left cheek. He felt ice cold against my burning flesh. "Siv," I said, my voice cracking as I spoke the dead woman's name.

He grasped my hand and placed it by my side. " _Hvil,_ " he said softly, and walked away.

. . . . . .

My fever grew worse. I was conscious enough to know that. Hot, cold, hot, cold. I felt my inner thighs. Both cuts had been stitched shut at some point. The ridges were painful, hot, and puffy. I felt Thrin's body beside me in the bed. Same temperature.

"Great, we both have a fever," I said.

Thrin grunted. He was lying on his left side, facing me. I somehow managed to sit up to get a look at his bleeding wound. I wasn't able to pull back the bandage; it had become stuck to the wound. I looked down at my barbaric, murderous captor-friend and frowned. The look in his eyes said he understood.

We were both fucked.

I didn't expect Thrin to grasp my hand. When he did, I began to cry again. As I sat there, sobbing openly, Thrin's hand felt like it was on fire. I opened my tear-filled eyes and saw a golden, swirling light surrounding our hands. I looked over at Thrin's face to see his reaction, but he had fallen asleep.

Thrin wasn't doing this. I was.

I took my hand out of Thrin's and the swirling continued over his hand and wrist as well as my own. I watched the light until it faded. I considered the explanations.

Radiation. Feverish hallucinations. Time Lord regeneration.

"Stop it," I told myself. I then recalled the sparks and lightning I had created from my own hands, and the fire Doctor Lady had made – oh, if only she were here now. She had healed me with the same sort of golden light. I figured it a long-shot, but it was either try or die. " _Allons-y_ ," I muttered, and held my hand to my broken rib.

And nothing happened.

"Heal," I said quietly. Nothing. "Light." Nothing. "I don't want to die here with a barbarian?" Nothing.

I tried my other hand. Nothing.

"Okay, Thrin. Round two." I grasped his hand and willed the swirling light to appear. My palm felt hot. I held my other hand to his sticky, sweet-smelling arm wound. I felt heat there, too.

And then the light came. The swirling light enveloped Thrin's arm and torso. I placed one hand on my torso and felt heat. I moaned at the unavoidable pleasure of heat and healing happening within my body.

I lay back down on the bed next to Thrin and watched as the swirling golden light enveloped both our bodies. A smile creeped across Thrin’s face.

. . . . . .

My stomach growled loudly enough to wake me. I heard Thrin's laughter. I sat up in bed, easily, and without pain.

"Thrin?" I asked, as if it wasn't really him. His black eye was nearly healed, his nose no longer broken, and the bloody bandage was off of his arm. He was standing in the center of the one-room house, stirring something in a cooking pot.

I stood from the bed and lifted my linen shirt to examine my side. The bruise had yellowed. I walked up to Thrin and touched the scar on his arm where the infected wound was, and gave him an inquisitive look.

" _Da tolst,"_  he said, indicating his arm. And his face. And my side. And my thighs.

My thighs! I was some sort of loose linen shorts, so it was easy to lift the material and examine myself. I turned my back to Thrin, put a leg up on the bed. What should have been long, puffy scars were nothing more than faint lines with thin, stiff thread sewn into the skin. I tugged at the dark thread and it wouldn't budge.

"Thrin?" I called to him. He walked over and I showed him the stitches he had made. He chuckled, said something, and then returned to whatever he was cooking. "Hey," I said, gaining his attention. "These need to come out." I pointed to the stitches.

Thrin sighed and walked over to me, bent down to examine a thigh, walked over to a cupboard, pulled out a dagger, and then walked over and handed me the blade.

" _Skeyra dem,"_  he said nonchalantly as he returned to his cooking.

" _Skeyra?"_  I asked.

He held up two fingers and made a slicing motion against his wrist.

 _Skeyr_. Cut. _Skeyra dem._  Cut them. 

 _This should be fun,_ I thought with a sigh.

. . . . . .

It must have been high winter in Whereverland. It never, ever stopped snowing. Luckily, the cabin we were in was stocked with preserved foods. Dried fruit and vegetables, dried meat, biscuits, and spices. Thrin found a bow and some arrows, and once in a while returned with a deer or several smaller game in tow.

I wasn't sure how long exactly we were in the cabin, but the day we were miraculously healed, I began making notches on a wall with the dagger I had used to cut out my stitches.

To pass the time, Thrin taught me his words for objects around the cabin, as well as some useful phrases. I made it a point to ask him what several phrases he had said to me earlier meant.

 _Mina kune._ I had been partially right. The phrase meant "my woman," not slave, but considering the circumstances I wondered if the two designations were wholly dissimilar.

 _Fysan da dath_  was another phrase that stuck in my head, probably because Thrin poked my chest hard to drive the point home, so to speak. Garthek – Horn Helmet Guy – wanted my death. Apparently I was "not clan" and should have been killed, but Thrin had claimed me as his property.

Hurray.

 _Sitja med zeik. Lafa med zeik._  Stay with me. Live with me.

It wasn't a romantic gesture, but rather one that would have kept me alive. Stay with Thrin. Stay with Thrin and live. Though the man was still a murderer in my eyes, he had indeed kept me alive, even though he had no reason to.

 _Dripa_  was an order to kill. Garthek was going to kill every single one of those women and children. Thrin and his friends had refused direct orders. From what I gathered from Thrin telling me about Garthek, there had been problems for years between him as well as several other people and Garthek, and that day was simply the breaking point.

So there we were, two semi-communicative quasi-friends, living in a cabin in the middle of somewhere in the dead of winter. I tried repeatedly to tell Thrin that this was not my world, that where I was from there was only one moon, but he didn't understand me at all. I then realized I had never asked the name of the country we were in.

" _Himborth,"_  he said.

" _Hvas?"_

Thrin took my hand and led me outside. He pointed at the sky and said, " _Him."_ He took me back inside, led me over to the cooking pot, and traced his finger around the edge of the container. " _Borth."_

Sky Rim. Wherever this land was, this man called it Sky Rim. Rim of the Sky. I wondered why.

. . . . . .

The sexual relationship that developed between Thrin and myself was about as casual as one could get.

Sometime after my monthly mess passed with much drama and frantic rummaging through the cabin for anything to use – I had resorted to using washed, old rags after the cotton ran out – Thrin's vocabulary shifted from everyday needs to somewhat less immediate topics.

 _Mathir,_  man. Or, possibly, barbarian.  _Kune_ , woman.  _Serk_ , shirt.  _Kerklaeth_ , armor.  _Har_ , hair. Teaching me that word was when he stroked my ponytail. He could have tugged on his own brown locks, but, no, he stroked mine.

That night, he groped me in bed.

I had been sweating in my nightclothes and under the thick fur blanket. With just the one room of the cabin, the small hearth did a decent job of keeping us warm. I flung the fur blanket off of me and stripped down to my bra and linen underwear. Even then I was still too hot, so I ran outside into the bitter cold for a minute, and when I came back in I put out the hearth fire.

When I climbed back in bed, Thrin either instinctively or intentionally wrapped his arm around me and nonchalantly grasped my breast. I lay there motionless for a short while, hoping he would move off of me – I was too hot anyway – but he didn't. Instead, his grip on me grew tighter, and his body pressed against mine, revealing an appendage that I was hoping just had a mind of its own.

What may have started as instinctive movements soon became undoubtedly intentional. Thrin's fingers found a nipple, and his lips found the back of my neck. His hand drifted lower on my body. With his hot breath making my body shiver and expert fingers teasing between my legs, I unexpectedly melted in his arms.

Thrin slid one, then two fingers inside of me, all the while teasing the center of my pleasure in ways that my ex-husband never seemed to get a hang of. Moaning, I began to move my body against his and felt his growing desire. I reached behind me and wrapped my hand around his erection. His very, very large erection. I felt him bite lightly into my shoulder, making me moan louder. I supposed Thrin took this as an invitation for similar sensations, because next I knew his hand left my folds and came down hard on my ass.

I jumped, but he immediately massaged my stinging fleshy backside. The sensations made me grip Thrin's shaft tighter, causing him to moan. He then spoke in a quiet, deep voice, words too fast for me to understand, but just the sound of him speaking combined with his fingers once again between my legs sent me over the edge in a surprisingly strong orgasm. Thrin didn't stop moving his fingers. He bit my shoulder again, and began to pump into my fist. I squirmed against him, wishing he would just fuck me already.

" _Gera zeik,"_  I pleaded. I thought I said "Do me." I hoped I did. Thrin must have understood, because he shifted and positioned himself behind me, lifted my leg a little, and pushed himself inside. He wrapped his arms around my body, holding me captive in a very different way, and thrust into me fast and shallow. His hand found a bouncing breast and held on for the duration, kneading, flicking, pinching. His lips stayed on the back of my neck, only leaving for the occasional nip of my shoulder and the uttering of more incomprehensible words.

I knew then why Blondie was moaning so loudly that one night in the cave _._ I'd never had a man as big as he was, nor been fucked as hard. My second orgasm came and went, but Thrin wasn't finished with me yet.

When he maneuvered me to my hands and knees, he was able to reach down and once again tease my sensitive node. Occasionally he'd slow down his thrusts, letting me feel the length of him slide in and out, but for the majority of the evening, Thrin pounded into me.

I didn't mind.

I didn't mind four times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last edited: 8/18/17


	9. Thrynn

“Winter… hold?” I asked. “Why I go Winter-hold?” I knew my grammar was atrocious, but Thrin understood me.

He grunted. “Well, I don’t usually _efla_ magic and becoming a mage, _granaar_ for Nords, but you already are a mage, so there’s no _verthig_ it now. Who better _rathar_ you on magic than mages? The _Bruz_ of Winterhold is where you should go.”

“ _Bruz?_ ” I asked, though that wasn’t the only word I didn’t understand.

“Mm… place where people learn things. In this _mal_ , magic.”

“Place people learn.” _College!_ “Yes, college! I understand. I like go college.”

“Good. I’ll draw a _grunt_ for you,” Thrin said as he stood to search for something.

“ _Grunt?_ ”

“Eh, land drawing?” Thrin tried to explain what the word meant.

He meant a map.

Over two months had passed since we’d come to the cabin in the woods, and while I thought that my learning of Norren, Thrin’s language, was going incredibly slow, he claimed I was learning quite fast. I offered to teach him English, but he wasn’t interested. I figured it didn’t matter, seeming as how English probably didn’t exist here.

When Thrin was finished drawing the map, he made a big circle for where we currently were in the woods, and a dotted line showing the path along roads to the college he mentioned, where he wrote out “Winterhold,” the city name.

I studied the map, and I frowned when I realized why he had drawn it for me. “You no go with me?”

“No, I can’t go with you. I have a _sistrin_ east of here who is _finig_ work for me.”

I sighed. “How I get money? Food, clothing.”

Thrin smiled and walked over to the table by the door on which he had placed all of our weapons. “You can _selja_ these for gold. _Thar_ , not all of them. I _segja_ you at _sist_ keep the dagger.”

I nodded. “So, College of Winterhold. People as me at college? With hand-light?”

“Yes,” Thrin said. “Magic. I don’t know more about it.” He laughed. “I can teach you _tuttag_ ways to kill a man, but nothing about magic.”

“Hmph. Where you go east?”

“A _sysle_ in the woods east of a town called Riften. My _sistrin_ tells me they have need for _megin,_ so that’s what I’ll do.”

“ _Megin?”_

Thrin smiled and flexed his arms to show off his massive muscles.

I rolled my eyes. I then sighed, because I was worried about venturing into this land alone. It was bad enough venturing alone into another part of _my_ world that I had never been to before, but this world had trolls and barbarians and mages. Who knew what else lurked along the sides of the roads.

I looked up at Thrin with my best sad puppy dog eyes. “You go with me. Make safe me. You go when I come Winterhold.”

Thrin sat down next to me on the bed and put an arm around me. “You don’t need my protection, Deb.” He had started to call me by my nickname a few weeks ago. “You have magic. _Mega_ magic.”

I reached up and grasped his hand. Thrin was my only friend in the world – literally – and he was planning on parting ways. I knew I would miss him, even if he was a barbarian. I momentarily forgot about his eventual abandonment when he sucked at the flesh of my neck.

He learned my special spot, the place where someone just has to breathe on to get me riled up. I gasped just from the touch of his lips, and when he let up his hold on me, I pressed my lips to his and pushed him down onto the bed.

I said a lot of things that evening in my own language, some in his, partially as a learning exercise for myself, but most of what I said was simply how I felt - about him, about us, about our situation. He said nothing, but from the way he made love to me that night, soft and gentle for once, actually kissing my mouth, I thought that perhaps I could dissuade him from leaving me, from going east.

. . . . . .

When I awoke, the sun was shining and birds were singing. Thrin wasn’t in bed. I opened the cabin door and stepped out into the cool, but not quite cold morning air. Though I was naked, the breeze didn’t turn my body immediately to ice.

Spring had come.

Thrin had always said he would want to leave the cabin when spring came.

I felt like a fool, not noticing that enough weeks had passed for seasons to change. I supposed I wouldn’t have known anyway, seeming as how I didn’t know yet how seasons worked here, how many there were, if the year was a twelve-month period or not. I walked back inside to count the hash marks I had made on the cabin wall. Eighty-four days. That was how long Thrin and I had been in the cabin. I forgot how long he and I were in the cave. I supposed I’d been in this world for about four months.

I sat back on the bed, looking around the lifeless one-room cabin, enjoying the cool breeze from the open door. I then saw the big pile of stuff on the dining table. I walked over and rummaged through the items. A canteen, a large knapsack, dried food including lots of dried venison, several gemstones, and the map Thrin drew for me.

Thrin had left, likely in the middle of the night, without saying goodbye. He took the horse, but had left supplies for me. A moderately considerate barbarian.

I collapsed into a chair as a sudden wave of nausea flooded through me and made my knees weak.

I was back in the pitch-black cave again, not knowing where I was, where to go, and wondering how not to die. Sure, I had food, clothing, and some items to sell for more food, but none of that meant anything now that I was completely alone in a new land where nothing made sense.

I picked up the map he drew and studied it. I thought I saw something written on the back of the paper, so I turned it over. Sure enough, Thrin had written a note, likely just before he left. Shame he never taught me how to read his alphabet. The note was formatted like any other. The first three symbols at the top must have been my name, Deb, and the last five-letter word must have been his name. I thought about what I knew of Norwegian, and remembered they had a single letter for the ‘th’ sound. I then noticed that the last letter of his name was repeated.

Thrinn, or Thrynn.

I perused the rest of the words, looking for clues as to the sounds of each letter, which didn’t help in the least. I would have to figure out what the rest of the note said another time, perhaps when I found someone who could read.

I ran outside when I began to dry-heave.

. . . . . .

After I felt better, I set out on my way toward the nearest road, which was somewhat east of the cabin, but not far. I was pleased to find the snow almost completely melted, and that the weather warmed the further east I traveled. Thrinn, Thrynn, whoever, had said to stop through a city called Windhelm on my way north and purchase a ride to Winterhold from a cart-driver. I kept going east, or so I thought, anyway; the sun was partially hidden behind clouds. When I finally found the parallel river and road indicated by the map, I turned left, or north.

When I passed a boulder, I heard the lowered voices of several men. I peeked around the boulder to see who was there, my hand gripping a small sword Thrinn had told me to sell. When I saw five men dressed somewhat like Roman soldiers, I stood there speechless, and wide-eyed with confusion.

“ _Dicesne linguam Romae?”_ I asked, figuring if they looked like Romans they may have been.

The men turned to me, surprised at first. They then shouted at me and at each other, took my sword, bound my wrists, and gagged me with a piece of torn fabric. Kicking and screaming, I was half-dragged to a horse-drawn cart and forced to sit within in. They tied me to the cart and disappeared. I tried to wiggle free, willed my magic to return, but I was stuck. Captive, again. I tried to remain calm.

Hours later, three men were shoved into the cart, each of them with their hands tied behind their back. One of them was gagged, like me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last edited: 8/17/17


	10. Dungeons and Dragons

Three days later, the strongly-built man wearing some sort of uniform and sporting a braid in his blonde hair was again arguing with the Romanesque cart-driver. He spoke the same language as Thrinn, but I barely understood him. I thought it due to my overall exhaustion and cramping, empty stomach. Next to me in the cart was an even larger, older man with strawberry blonde hair wearing much nicer clothing, mouth bound as mine was. Across from him was a skinny man in rags.

The large blond man sitting across from me turned and said something in a kind voice to me. I was about to tell him I couldn’t understand him, but he just kept on talking. His voice then turned gruff, and he nodded toward the skinny man sitting next to him. I watched their conversation, straining to hear over the sounds of the horses and carts and the thumping of my own heart. The skinny man turned to me and spoke. I knew he was talking to me, but I was distracted and could barely make out  _da ath zeik,_ you and me.

_You and me, what? Who the hell are you?_

The skinny man and the large blond bickered more, and the cart-driver spat back at them. I closed my eyes. It hurt to listen to a conversation that I couldn't understand. I just wished the guy sitting across from me would shut up. His voice was way too loud, and every word was like an ice pick to my ear. I heard the skinny man say Windhelm, but beyond that I had given up understanding anything. When the skinny man sounded like he was about to cry, the large blond man finally lowered his voice. He sounded sad. I opened my eyes and we shared a glance. The blond man continued a solemn conversation with the skinny man, all the while gazing at me.

I turned my head away from the man to look forward; appearing from behind thick forest were the walls of a town. I watched as the cart ahead of us, holding four more prisoners, rolled through the entrance. It was my first glimpse of a real town in this world. It looked extraordinarily Saxon, or Norse, or something along those lines. I supposed that made sense. The blond man sitting in front of me looked like a proper Viking, even more so than Thrinn did.

The carts pulled to a stop near a wall. I looked to my left and saw that the enormous strawberry-blond man was hunched over, defeated, his icy eyes radiating both sadness and fury. To me, he looked like a mortally wounded prideful lion – dying, but waiting to lash out at his captors one last time. The blond man across from me nudged my hands to get my attention, and said something about  _bithig par os,_ waiting for us, then stood. My thighs screamed as I pushed myself to a standing position. I didn't know what was happening, but I followed the rest of the prisoners out of the cart. The skinny man whined something - I heard the word  _nei_  - and the large blond man said something in a gruff voice. I heard the word  _dath_.

Death.

Death.

Death.

_So this is how I die, then._

Not in a cave with a bunch of barbarians, not from being attacked by a troll or after being raped, but after being attacked by Roman soldier wannabes.

I stood behind the enormous lion-man and the skinny man, with the blond behind me, listening to a redhead man read from some paper. Lion Man stepped forward – had they called his name? – followed by the blond from behind me. The skinny man was next – he protested, I thought, because a second later he bolted from the guards toward a house. A dark-skinned woman in full metal armor – impressive, shining armor and very Greco-Roman – shouted something loud enough to make my ears ring. I watched in horror as an arrow sped through the air and landed in the man’s neck, killing him instantly.

When the dark-skinned commander woman turned to me, I began to cry. The redhead with the paper and quill addressed me and asked for my name,  _nefn_. Whimpering, I stepped up to the man; he pulled my mouth gag forward, allowing me to speak.

"Deb," I said, neglecting to say Deborah. When I gave my name to Thrinn all those months ago, he had mistaken me for some sort of goddess, he later told me, laughing at himself. I wondered if I should correct myself, say my full name to this soldier, and maybe have him freak out on me, too. "Deborah," I said quietly. I decided it couldn't hurt, since I was apparently going to die anyway.

The soldier called me a _Nor_ – that's what Thrinn called himself. It's what the Norse-like people of Sky-Rim were called. I was surprised the man thought I was one of these people. I never thought I looked very Scandinavian. Just pale-skinned with blue eyes and brown hair.

He spoke some more words to me and then to the commander, who snapped back at him. I wanted to protest, but my mouth was gagged again. Too exhausted and distraught to scream, I just cried. The soldier said more words to me, something beginning with  _beka_ , sorry, but the rest I didn't understand. He motioned for me to follow the commander and join the Viking-like soldiers, who were lined up in front of a stone tower.

In front of a headsman.

With an axe.

A really, really big axe.

I gulped. My body tightened. A man who looked strikingly like a Roman war general spoke to the enormous Lion Man, who growled in response. Fitting.

While the Roman General spoke, I heard something else roar, but not a person. At first I wondered if it was an airplane about to crash down on all of us, killing me and my captors, or wake me up from whatever horrible coma-dream this was.

Others heard the sound too, but continued to do whatever they were going to do to us. I watched a woman in orange-yellow robes raise her hands in prayer, but she was interrupted by a Viking guy, dressed the same as the blond guy who I shared a cart with. He walked up to her, shouting something too quickly for me to understand.

The Viking guy kneeled down in front of the chopping block, shouted something once again, and then the axe came down.

I vomited against my mouth gag.

I choked on my own mess, attempting unsuccessfully to spit it out, and was forced to swallow the majority of it. I was sobbing again, surely a wreck in the eyes of my new captors and the Viking-like people who were being executed.

Over my sobs I heard the large blond man say something about _dath arth lafa,_ death and life.

The roar from the skies rumbled again, louder; it was definitely not an airplane. My eyes were on the sky until the commander woman shouted something. I looked over in her direction and she was staring directly at me.

"No," I said in their language, or tried to, but my mouth was gagged and I was positive they couldn't understand what I said. I shook my head vigorously as I cried. The commander stared daggers at me.

Shaking, crying, and stinking of stomach acids, I walked up to the chopping block. The commander shoved me down. I turned my head to my left to watch the headsman. I wanted to see everything that happened before I died.

Then I heard it again, the roaring. Out of the corner of my eye I caught movement in the sky. With my eyes blurred from tears I thought it was an eagle or some large bird until it soared toward the tower in front of us.

_No._

_No._

I stared wide-eyed in terror at the enormous flying creature that landed on the top of the stone tower, making the ground quake. I couldn’t believe I was actually watching this happen. My breath stopped as the black beast simply sat there, staring at me with glowing red eyes.

When I saw the dragon begin to inhale, I knew I was going to die in a blast of fiery dragon breath. I closed my eyes, and waited for the inevitable.

I heard a loud, thundering blast, and instead of feeling like I was being burned alive, I felt the ground shake as if a bomb had gone off. A strong wind started to pick up.

I opened my eyes. What had been a calm sky had turned to a threatening, turbulent grey. The dragon continued to stare at me, and I watched as it inhaled once more. It bellowed, shaking the ground and forcing its breath in my direction at a high speed, knocking me over and jostling my brain. The world spun.

The large blond man came over to me and helped me stand. He shouted at me to come with him, and started running toward another tower. I followed, slowly, still teetering from my possible concussion and recent debilitation by dragon roar.

Inside the tower, the blond man stopped to talk to Lion Man, looked around for a moment, then turned to me and urged me up the stone steps, telling me to go. At that point I was too exhausted and weak to care who he was, and let him take command. As we scaled the stone steps, the wall imploded, and the dragon breathed fire into the tower. I jumped back and slammed my back against the stone wall and screamed, ushering in a fresh round of sobs.

The large blond man rushed over to me and gripped my upper arms. He shouted, not angrily, but encouragingly. I felt him untie my bound hands and remove my mouth gag. He then grasped my chin with his fingers, begging my attention, and I gave it. He looked into my eyes, pointed at the hole in the tower wall, and tugged on my arm until I followed him. He pointed down at a damaged house. It had a hole in its roof, and I could see the wooden floor. He made motions with his hands while talking.

The blond man stared at me and nodded. I looked once more over at the house. He wanted me to jump.

I hoped that I was correct in remembering that when jumping from a high level, you're better off not trying to land on your feet, but rather tucking and rolling your body after the fall. I figured I'd be fucked either way. So I jumped.

I crashed through the remnants of the roof and landed directly on my right thigh, failing to both tuck and roll. The blond man followed soon after and helped me stand. How he landed without injury, I'd have to ask later, if we survived. We walked, cautiously, together out of the house and into the burning, chaotic town. We rushed as fast as we could, forward and to the left, dodging falling burning parts of houses and keeping our gaze skyward. We stopped at a door to a large stone building and he opened the door for me. Once inside I sighed and sobbed in partial relief.

The blond man grasped my upper arm again and led me forward quickly, but stopped short when he saw a man lying dead, dressed just like him. He dropped my arm and walked up to the man's body, said a few quiet words, then turned to me. He said words I didn't understand, speaking too quickly or using words I never learned. He then, thankfully, found a rag for me to clean myself with. As I cleaned my neck and chest of vomit, he walked up to his dead comrade and began to remove the man’s armor.

"Armor?" I asked. I pointed to the dead man to make my question clearer.

I still had trouble understanding the man, but he said something along the lines of, "He's dead, take his armor."

"Armor, me? Small?" I asked. I doubted the man’s armor would fit my curves.

The blond man squinted at me, a puzzled look on his face. He finished removing the dead man’s blue cloak, leather tunic and chain mail shirt, then handed me the mail to put over the armor I had on. He then fitted the blue cloak around me and gave me a belt which held a small pouch and a scabbard. He handed me a heavy axe that his friend had been wielding.

An axe. _What the hell am I going to do with an axe?_ I swung it around tentatively, wincing at the pain I felt in my hip and thigh. Luckily for me, the axe was light enough for me to swing around. I hoped however that I would never have any need for it.

My hopes faded when I heard shouting approaching from further within the building.

I gripped the axe tightly and watched while the oncoming Romanesque soldiers attacked my new companion. With only the same small axe, the blond man took out the two attacking soldiers, but not before suffering a hard blow to his chest. I ran over to the blond Viking and held my hands against him. Immediately I felt warmth between my palms and his chest, and saw once again that swirling, golden light. The blond man stared down at his chest and then at me, his brow creased in confusion.

"Is that magic?" he asked.

I nodded.

The man grunted. He then grabbed my wrist and pushed my hand away. "Enough," he said, before turning to go where the two Romanesque soldiers had come from.

We continued in this way through the depths of the stone building, encountering more Romanesque soldiers, who died quickly. Viking Man handed me a knapsack and told me to gather food and  _galgerthen_ , whatever that was. I rummaged through drawers and cabinets but didn't find much, just some bread and what I guessed was wine, which I didn't take. Viking Man shouted something at me, walked over to the table and cabinets, grabbed some small bottles and handed them to me. I stared at him blankly, not knowing what they were, but for whatever reason he thought I should have them, so I put them in my knapsack.

"Let's move," he said. We then encountered a woman and a man, wearing the same blue cloaks, fighting two men in what looked like a dungeon. Before we could intervene, the newly-encountered blue-cloaked man was run through with a sword. I squealed. When the last Romanesque man was finally killed, the blonde woman and my Viking companion looked up at me as if I'd said something awful, but I ignored them. I squinted and tried to force the image of a sword gutting a man out of my brain.

While the two blue-cloaked soldiers rummaged through the dungeon, I noticed a book on a table, next to a knapsack, which I immediately retrieved. I opened the book, recognized nothing, but put it in one of my knapsacks anyway. I also bagged the dagger that was sitting next to the book.

"Are you coming?" Viking Man asked me before leaving the dungeon area. I nodded, and followed behind them.

We arrived at a cavernous inner structure with bridges and walkways, defended by several Romanesque soldiers. The blue-cloaked soldiers charged at them, leaving me behind to fend for myself. I decided to follow behind them as close as I dared, just in case I could heal them with this magic that I apparently could summon.

The first two Romanesque soldiers were bested quickly, but a third proved more difficult. I ran forward with my axe, screaming as I landed the blade between the Romanesque soldier's neck and shoulder, killing him instantly. My screaming stopped, and I dropped the axe which remained lodged in the soldier's body. I stepped back, wide-eyed, staring at the man I had just killed. The blonde woman yanked the axe out of the man's neck, wiped the blood on his red and leather armor, and handed it back to me. I stared at her, terrified, but she only laughed and turned toward the next passageway.

I vomited again, this time not on me but rather, unintentionally, on the body of the dead soldier. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and moved on after the two blue-cloaked Vikings.

Viking Man turned to the blonde woman and said something about going somewhere, but the woman replied with something about "here.” The man nodded and urged me to follow him. I looked back at the blonde woman who gave a weak smile before turning back the other way. The blond man began to run in the opposite direction, so I followed, quickly.

We walked over slippery rocks, working our way through a cave, finding skeletons of dead men and their belongings, which the man and I looted. As we walked away from flowing water, Viking Man jutted his arm in front of my chest, stopping me from advancing. He looked ahead warily, and I followed his gaze.

It was hard for me to see what he was looking at, but what I did see was massive spider webs.

And then the massive spider came.

And then another. And another.

I lost count after the third pony-sized spider scurried toward us from the dark cave.

I screamed, or at least made some sort of sound similar to a scream before leaping behind the man's back. I heard myself whining, sobbing, shrieking.

The man rushed forward, sending his axe and a spare sword into the enormous, squishy thoraces of the mammoth arachnids. I watched in horror, never even wanting to step on a large house spider for fear of seeing its gooey insides on my shoe.

I didn't see the spurt of green ooze flying at me until it was too late to duck.

I screamed again, this time with words. I screamed for the man to help me, come to me, and that I couldn't see.

I was blinded by the green ooze.

Whimpering, I felt around. I heard awful squishing and spurting noises a few more times, and then the man came running to help me. He said something about getting stuff in the eyes. He tried to wipe my face clean, but I still couldn't see.

"I hate those  _feikan_  things," the man said. "Too many eyes, you know?"

He held my hand as we walked around the giant, dead spiders which smelled like sewage. I was thankful that I couldn't see them.

The man stopped again. "There's a bear ahead. Wait here."

I stayed put and listened as the man crept forward. I heard the sound of an arrow being notched and a bow being drawn, and then the unmistakable sound of an arrow penetrating flesh. And then another. The bear groaned, and the man stepped back toward me.

"Can you still not see?" he asked.

"No," I answered.

" _Vel,_  I suppose we must wait here a while. Come," he said before taking my hand and leading me somewhere. "Sit here, I'll  _fle_  the bear. It can be our dinner."

 _Bear for dinner?_ My stomach did another pirouette, but I didn't complain. Food was food.

"Here's some water,” the man said. “Try to wash your eyes.” I did, but it didn't help. I could see, but only faint movements of light and shadow.

"No see. I wait.”

All I heard in response was silence, not even the sounds of someone skinning an animal. I jumped when I heard the man speak very close to me. "What's your name?"

"Deb," I answered.

"Deb," he repeated. "Hmph. They call me Ralof." He walked away from me, and I heard him begin to cut the hide off of the bear. "Where are you from, Deb?" he asked while letting out faint grunts as he struggled with the hide.

"From? Not here. Not Sky-Rim."

" _Vel_  that's for sure. I can't place your  _hrem_. Not Nor, not  _Harsten_ , not  _Harfaed_ , not  _Rathgaet_. Or perhaps something  _blandt_?" The man laughed again. "Were you  _vakt_  by  _frekir?"_

" _Frekir?"_

Ralof laughed, and then proceeded to howl like a wolf.

 _Frekir. “_ Wolf? No, no wolf. What wolf?" I was confused.

He laughed again. I heard the splashing sounds of innards being gutted.

" _Vel_  at  _sist_ you understand most of what I say. Can you see  _tho_?"

"No, no see."

The man sighed. "I'll try _skapa_  a fire. We can sleep here tonight."

I was surprised by how good the bear tasted, despite my uneasy stomach.

Some time while we slept, my vision cleared, but I was woken by a severe pain in my abdomen. I cried out, and Ralof knelt at my side.

" _Ra, ra_ ," he said, pressing something between my legs. "You're bleeding."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last edited: 8/18/17


	11. Breaking It Down

“Bleeding?”

“Were you _thonga?_ ” Ralof asked.

“What?” He was pressing between my legs the blue cloak that I had been wearing. I felt him wiping my thighs and crotch in a very clinical manner, which confused me, but I was in too much pain to care.

“ _Thonga._ ” Ralof repeated the word that was unknown to me.

“I no understand,” I muttered.

Ralof sighed. “Did you have life inside of you?”

“Life inside?” My brow furrowed in contemplation. Life inside. _Pregnant?_ “No. Life inside?” My voice trailed off. It was indeed possible. Thrinn and I had sex many, many times over the weeks I was with him in the cabin. Many, many times. I shrugged, making an “it’s possible I guess” face, hoping Ralof understood that I didn’t know for sure.

“Is there a man?” he asked.

“A man. Thrinn. He go.” I lay back down on the cold cave floor, frowning and hugging my cramping abdomen.

“Deb, I think you were _thonga._ You lost the _kind_.”

“ _Kind,_ ” I repeated. I knew that word. _Kind. Kinder. Kindergarten._ I was pregnant. Was. “Good,” I said.

“Good?” Ralof repeated.

“Yes, good,” I grumbled. “Thrinn no good, he go. No want Thrinn-child. Good.”

I heard Ralof grunt quietly. “How do you feel? Are you in much pain?”

“Yes,” I answered. I heard Ralof rummage around our loot, and the clinking of glass.

“Drink this,” Ralof said, shoving a small red glass bottle in front of my face.

“What is this?”

“Just drink it,” he ordered. “Not all of it; try a little _fyrst_.”

I did as commanded, recorked the small bottle, and handed it back to him. I was pretty sure my face looked like I’d just bitten into a rotten banana. “Taste bad.” I gagged a little bit.

Ralof said nothing, but handed me something that looked like a blue-grey bathrobe. I looked up at him inquisitively. “Put it on. It’s a mage’s _kjol_.”

“A what?” I sat up, feeling somewhat better.

Ralof was obviously getting annoyed by my lack of understanding him. “Just put it on.”

He placed the clothing on my lap and turned around to give me privacy. I was cold, so I just put the robes on over my armor. “Small,” I said.

“It’s fine, you just have to have it on,” he said, turning back around.

“Why?”

“For the magic,” he answered plainly.

“For the magic?”

Ralof groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Are you not a mage?”

“Mage? No know.”

“ _Don’t_ know,” he corrected me. “By _Shor_ , how are you a Nord but not know our language?”

“I no Nord.”

Ralof laughed and shook his head.

I frowned. “What?”

Ralof groaned again. “Where are you from? You never said. You look like a Nord.”

“No Nord.”

”Not Nord.”

“Not Nord,” I repeated. “I from….” I sighed. _How does one explain you are from a different dimension or whatever?_ “Not now.”

Ralof stared at me, wide-eyed. “Not now? What do you mean?”

 _What the hell_. “I from after now.” For all I knew, it was perfectly true.

Ralof continued to stare at me. “You’re from the _alumtid?_ ”

“ _Alumtid_ is after now? Yes, this.” _Liar._

Ralof relaxed and leaned back, but still stared at me. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes.” I removed the blue cloth from between my legs. It was stained black-purple. I tossed it to the side.

Ralof turned to his left and looked toward what I thought was an opening in the cave. “I see light.” He turned back to me. “Can you walk?”

I nodded.

“Good. Eat some more bear before we go.”

. . . . . .

“Go on, touch the Mage Stone,” Ralof said to me as we stood before three stone pillars. “You’re a mage, you should ask for the _gypt se regen_.”

“The what?”

Ralof chuckled. He walked ahead of me and touched the pillar to my right. “Like this. Feel its _rik._ ”

When he touched the pillar that had a warrior engraved on it, the stone lit up with a white light and sent a beam up into the sky.

I gasped. “What… is?”

“This is the _gypt se regen_. The _regen_ are listening. Ask them for their _gypt_.” He pointed, smiling, to the center pillar which had a wizard engraving.

I walked up to the stone and touched it as Ralof had the warrior stone. Immediately, the stone lit up, and I felt strange. “I…. I am like bird.”

“Hmph, good.”

“What do? What is _regen, gypt?”_

“Let’s keep walking. I’ll explain.”

 

Gift of the gods. That’s what Ralof said the stones provided. There were many stones, but these were the ones most sought after. I wondered what gods he was referring to. I had laughed when I realized he was talking about actual divine beings, to which he seemed offended. I wondered if gods were more than just a myth in this world. I decided to be a good anthropologist and not laugh at comments like that again.

As we walked, he spoke about a war that was going on now, though I didn’t understand much. He called himself a Storm-Cloak – those were the people that were going to be executed. Ulfric Storm-Cloak was Lion Man. He was some sort of ruler, if I understood Ralof correctly.

The town Ralof led me to was called River Wood, and I could see why. There was a big river flowing straight through the town, and a huge lumber mill appeared to be the main reason for the town’s existence. Ralof led me directly to the mill where a tall blonde woman about his age met him with a smile and tight embrace. I understood the word she called him - _bruthir_.

Ralof looked excited to see a house on a small island in the river. I heard his sister, whose name sounded like Gerdur, say it was new.

About that time, I dropped out of the conversation and walked to the riverbank, sat myself down, and cried quietly. A very Scandinavian-looking dog came up to my side, whining, and licked my hands and chin with vigor. I missed my dog, Sam. I sobbed, and hugged the dog who was obviously trying to cheer me up.

“Deb,” I heard Ralof call to me. I dried my eyes, stood, and turned to him and his sister. The look on his face told me he knew I had been crying. “Hey, are you alright?”

Damn. Whenever I was distraught and someone asked me that question, I always lost it. Every single time. I shook my head and began to sob heavily. Ralof took me in his arms. His sister said something about a house. Ralof walked, me clinging to him, into the small house on the small island.

. . . . . .

I woke up sometime after sundown, alone in a small bed in a small, one-room house. Memories of the cabin I shared with Thrinn came flooding back.

Thrinn. Barbarians. Swords. Rape. Trolls. Magic. Dragons. Swinging an axe into a man. Giant-ass spiders. Gods.

_Fucking dragons!_

I curled up into myself on the bed and stared at the wood-plank floor.

“You’re awake,” I heard Ralof say from somewhere in the house.

“No, I sleep.” I turned my back to him and faced the dark window instead.

“You should eat. You slept all day.”

I smelled something delicious, but I wasn’t interested. “ _Dragon_ ,” was all I said, in my language.

“What?”

“Big black wing-animal in sky. Fire. Not dream?”

I heard Ralof walk up to my bed, and felt him sit down. “No, you didn’t dream it. It was a _dovah_. I could barely believe my own eyes.”

“ _Dovah,_ ” I repeated. “People die. _Dovah_ kill.”

“Yes, many died.”

“I kill man.”

“What man?”

“In cave. With axe. Man die.”

“Was that your first kill?” he asked.

“First kill?” I asked myself, and began to sob again. “ _Dovah_ is. Big, crawling thing is. Troll, magic is.”

“Yes, they _syn_. _Dovahn_ were something of legend, but ‘big crawling things’ – _fokosten_ – and trolls, magic…. These are nothing new.”

I lurched up from the bed and screamed at Ralof, “New to me!”

I glared at the man, and then flipped back over, facing the wall in a huff, and refused to speak to him again.

I felt his hand rest on my shoulder for a good long while before I fell asleep again.

. . . . . .

At some point the next day I wandered into what was apparently a tavern. My stomach was in knots and loudly protesting my fast, so I sat down at the bar and asked for whatever food they had. I promptly received a small loaf of bread and a bowl of stew.

“Three gold,” a gruff man said.

“Ralof gold,” I said as I stuffed my face. I had no money, no belongings except my clothing, but I didn’t care. I didn’t think Ralof would mind.

“Anything to drink?” the barkeep asked.

I chewed the tough meat, swallowed, and then answered by pointing to a wine bottle.

For what must have been several hours I sat sulking in the corner of the tavern, alone, sipping from bottle after bottle of an amazingly strong red wine.

I was too tired and drunk to try to speak in Norren, so I reverted to English. I spoke to no one in particular, though several people were in and out of the tavern throughout the day.

“ _And then, he just fucking left me_ ,” I continued in English to a thin, young blond man carrying a lute. I laughed when I saw the lute. “ _A lute? A fucking lute? Where are we, medieval England!?”_ I laughed again and drank more wine and munched on more bread. “ _He fucking left me. And he knocked me up! Goddamn men. Goddamn barbarians. Never trust a man wearing warpaint, I tell you what. Never, never._ ” I threw the wine bottle against the wall and watched it smash into a million green glass shards. “ _Fucking bastard. I should have gone after him. No, no, fuck that. I should have never stayed with him. I wouldn’t’ve gotten all attached and whatever, not gotten pregnant. Fucking Thrinn._ ”

I turned to an older blonde woman and tugged at her sleeve. “ _Hey, hey_ ,” I said quietly, and then reverted to speaking in Norren. “What say?” I handed her the note Thrinn had left me on the back of the map.

The older blonde woman took the note from me, read it, and laughed. She looked at me, folded the note, and handed it back to me. “You don’t want to know,” she said, shaking her head and walking away.

“What? Hey!” I stood, causing the wooden bench to make a loud _frpppt_ against the tavern floor. “What say!? I no read. Say this!” I thrust the note back at the blonde woman.

The woman glared at me, but reopened the note, cleared her throat, then looked at me. “Sit down,” she ordered. I did. She returned her gaze to the paper. “Deb,” she began, and then looked at me. “Deb? What kind of name is ‘Deb’?” She shook her head, and continued. “’I hope you find your way to the College alright. These items I found around this cabin should let you _kaup_ food. For a _sahla_ mage, you’re not half-bad. Thanks for—’” The woman stopped, and then snorted before laughing.

“What! Thanks for what?” I demanded.

The blonde woman smiled through her laughter, and handed me back the note. “Pay me for the food and wine, and I’ll tell you.”

As she walked away, I grabbed a loaf of bread and chucked it at her, hitting her in the head. “Read me! What say!?”

The woman grumbled, and continued walking away from me. She said something to the barkeep about Ralof, but I decided to ignore the lot of them and continued to drink my wine.

Not long after I threw the bread at the woman, Ralof entered the tavern. I turned my back to him, ignoring the angry look on his face.

“So, I’m to pay for your _veizlas_ , hmm?”

“No gold. Soldiers take. Forget. Forget dragon. Forget… _fokosten._ ” _Fucking goddamn giant spiders_. I shuddered. I emptied another wine bottle into my mouth.

“There was wine in the house, mead at Gerdur’s house. You didn’t have to drink this wine. I don’t want to know how much I owe Delphine now.”

I shrugged and stuffed another lump of cheese into my mouth.

“Hey, enough. Come on.” Ralof tugged on the sleeve of the robe he had given me in the cave.

“Off me!” I yelled, swatting Ralof’s hand away.

The blonde woman walked over to us. “Ralof, it’s fine. Your girl is _laargaar_ upset. She can work off the food and drink in time. Will do her some good, I think.”

“Why did you let her keep drinking? She’s a _horm_!” Ralof yelled at the blonde woman. “And she’s _not_ my girl.”

“ _Vathvet_. She can clean up her own _sothas_ in the morning. Let her drink. She needs it, after what some guy named Thrynn did to her.” The woman left.

Ralof growled and sat next me on the bench, grabbed a fresh bottle of wine, and drank half of the contents.

I slammed my fist down on the table. I was suddenly seething with anger and my breathing quickened. I was hyperventilating. Ralof grasped my hand. After a while, my breathing slowed.

“I child lost,” I said in a whisper.

“Yes, I believe you were pregnant,” Ralof answered, squeezing my hand. He drank more wine. “What did Thrynn do to you? _Vidth_ get you pregnant and leave you.”

I looked at Ralof, then reached for the now-crumpled note I had stuffed against my breast since before behind captured by Roman wannabes. I handed it to my Viking companion.

“Woman no read me what say, why Thrinn thank me.” I squeezed bread in my hand until it crumbled. “Thrinn… bad man. Kill men. Leave me. Take horse. Bad man.” I switched to English. “ _Fucking barbarians_.”

“Hmph,” Ralof said as he read the note. “ _Legathaar_ you were too good to him.”

“Too good?” I thought for a moment. “Yes, too good. Thrinn bad man. Forget Thrinn.” I looked over at Ralof. “Well, what say? Thank me for what?”

Ralof let out a single, stifled laugh, and smiled. “I don’t know how to explain the words.”

I stared at him expectantly.

Ralof blushed, and cleared his throat. “He thanks you for… being there for him. With him. And for, eh—” he cleared his throat again “— _sjugig han… han_ , well, you know.”

I shook my head slowly. “Nooo, I no know. Don’t. Don’t know.” I rubbed my forehead.

Ralof ran his hand down his face in frustration. “He thanked you for putting your mouth on his ‘sword’.”


	12. Tall Tales

Sword swallowing. I was not hearing this.

Ralof was no longer laughing, but rather gave me a sympathetic look.

The blonde woman – what did Ralof call her? Delphine? – overheard, and was laughing quietly behind the bar.

I groaned, and hid my face behind my hands.

At that moment, the tavern door opened and I peeked out from behind slightly splayed fingers. What I saw enter from the night made me freeze in terror and confusion. The man was tall, very slender, had grey-beige skin, white hair, enormous red-brown eyes, and pointed ears.

Pointed ears.

I knew I was staring at the man-creature, but I couldn’t look away.

The man with the pointed ears stared back at me, but continued to walk toward the bar.

“What… is?” I whispered to Ralof.

“What? That’s just Faendal. He’s alright.”

“What is a … _faendal?_ ” I asked.

The man-creature then turned back and walked over to us. “Did you need me?” he asked Ralof in what I assumed was perfect Norren. What in the world was this creature that looked like a human-alien hybrid? Was I really looking right at an _elf!?_

Ralof chuckled. “No, Faendal, sorry. I was just telling Deb your name.”

I continued to stare at the man-creature called a _faendal._ Or maybe that was his name. He stared right back at me. “Deb?” the man-creature-maybe-elf-named-Faendal asked.

I nodded.

“Hmph. You’d think she’s never seen a _Bosmer_ before,” he said before walking away.

“ _Bosmer_ ,” I repeated.

“ _Fokosten_ , dragons….” Ralof patted my shoulder. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve never seen an _alfir_ before.”

“ _Alfir._ ” I turned to Ralof, touched my ear, and repeated the word. “ _Alfir_?”

Ralof nodded.

Faendal the Elf.

Barbarians, trolls, magic, giant spiders, dragons, gods, elves.

“I very… very far home,” I said to Ralof, bewildered, looking away.

“And very, very _ofrava._ Come, I’ll walk you to the house.” Ralof urged me to stand. He had to wrap his arm around my waist to keep me from falling over as we walked across a wood-plank bridge back to the small house.

As I settled into the small bed, I instantly gave up all protestations that this was not reality, that none of this was actually happening to me, and that I was stuck here in Sky-Rim along with awful things I didn’t understand, things I could barely comprehend.

_Dragons._

“It’s my fault for not _kynig_ you to the people here. My apologies,” Ralof said before standing up from tucking me into the bed. “Tomorrow, if you’re up to it, I’ll _kynig_ you to everyone. If you need _vathvet_ , I’m in Gerdur’s house – the one with the _feneth_ in front. Sleep off your wine, now.” He smiled and opened the door to the outside. “Good night.”

. . . . . .

If the sun set in the west, which I hadn’t bothered nor had the opportunity to figure out yet, then it was late morning when I woke up with a massive hangover. I splashed water from a pitcher onto my face and drank several mug fulls, which did nothing, and I yearned for some hot coffee. I trudged over to the outhouse that was apparently shared by half the small town, and then returned to the small house to get some clean clothes. I needed a bath, badly. I grabbed some fresh linens from a wardrobe and headed out to find a gentle part of the river to bathe in, hoping the cool water would help wake me up.

I didn’t expect to see Ralof bathing not far from where I intended to dive in. I ducked behind a massive tree, then peered around, and caught a glimpse of Ralof’s backside. And then he turned around. I took cover once more behind the tree’s massive trunk. After a moment, I peeked again around the tree, and got another eyeful of the massive, beautiful man.

“ _Well, that’s just not fair to anyone_ ,” I said to myself in English before trotting back to the small house.

That’s when I saw what looked like soldiers walking around the town. They had a yellow cloth uniform with a stylized horse head on their yellow-painted wood shields. I hadn’t seen them before now, but I realized I hadn’t been around for very long, and didn’t think much of it. I eventually found Ralof’s sister, who said that the men were sent from a town north of here called _Hvit-_ Run. They were apparently there to defend the town against possible dragon attacks.

. . . . . .

I had been in River Wood for about one month, as best I could guess, when several Romanesque soldiers – _Lokolten_ , as Ralof called them – arrived in town. I stiffened at the memory of nearly being executed by those people, and immediately feared for Ralof’s safety. I wanted to run toward his sister’s house, but I elected to walk casually, hoping I wouldn’t look suspicious. Ralof had been sleeping in the house’s basement where his brother-in-law, Hod, had built a hidden compartment that Ralof could retreat to if anyone ever came looking for him, because apparently, he was now a fugitive.

I had to make sure Ralof knew to hide. I was given the key to the house, so I entered inconspicuously and locked the door behind me.

Ralof was cooking something in a pot. He smiled at me, oblivious to the new arrivals in town.

In my best dead-serious voice, I calmly whispered, “Basement. Now.” I walked down to the old, broken shelf that housed the switch to the hideaway. The switch was cleverly disguised as an old lock, just sitting on a cluttered shelf full of old junk. Upon putting in the only key to the lock, which Ralof wore on a necklace, a click was heard, and the wooden panels of the basement wall adjacent to the old shelf could be pushed inward, like a door. Aside from picking the lock, which Hod said would be difficult, Ralof was the only person who could get in. From the inside of the compartment, he could manually lock and unlock the door without a key. Inside the relatively large secret room there was a cot, a bucket and a drain to dispose of his waste, a shelf full of preserved foods, and wine bottles filled with honeyed water.

I told Ralof what was going on in the town, and suggested that I should return to where I was, since they probably saw me. Ralof insisted I stay with him in the hideout, but I declined. His sister and I had already worked out a scheme with the rest of the small village in case this happened. I was mute – couldn’t speak.

Ralof grasped my hand and squeezed, then gave me a knowing, thankful smile.

I felt an invisible hand twisting at my stomach. I wanted badly to kiss the man that saved my life a month ago. This wasn’t the first occasion I’d wanted to do so, but if this hideout failed, he might be taken away, or killed on the spot, and I would never have the chance again.

So, I kissed him.

Normally I would have never considered doing such a thing to a friend without having any real open window or invitation. But there I was, my hands planted on each side of his scruffy face, holding his rough lips to mine. The kiss was quick. I didn’t give him the chance to kiss me back, or not.

With a sob, I pulled myself away from him and immediately closed the door to the compartment. I waited to leave until I heard the door latch. Once back upstairs, I closed the hatch to the basement and collapsed into a chair, and then sobbed uncontrollably. My body was shuddering. I wished for my anti-anxiety pills, but instead downed a half-bottle of wine. I waited until I was sure that I was no longer red in the face before returning to the center of the village.

Nothing came of the interrogations, despite the _Lokolten_ knowing Gerdur was Ralof’s sister. They didn’t recognize me, and didn’t make any fuss about being told I was a mute. They asked me if I knew Ralof, and if I’d seen him in the last month. I was thankful that the “yes” nod and “no” head shake were universal. When the _Lokolten_ left, a soldier in the yellow uniform came up to Gerdur and gave her a consoling pat on the arm. Apparently, the soldier, or at least this one, was on her side. Ralof’s side. The Storm-Cloak’s side.

The following day, Ralof was out of his hidden compartment, helping Hod in the lumber mill. He never mentioned the kiss to me. I figured he knew I was worried about him. Or, I thought, perhaps in this world, friends kissing friends was something that sometimes happened. Either way, I was sure he didn’t think much of the kiss, given the circumstances, and it was seen as no big deal.

I was helping Gerdur repair some tools, and saw my chance to ask her a question I’d had on my mind for weeks.

“Gerdur, does Ralof have a wife?” I realized I didn’t know how to say “married”.

Ralof’s sister smiled. “No, he doesn’t. Lots of _sifjen_ , though.”

“ _Sifjen_?”

Gerdur thought a moment, and then tried to explain the word. “Lots of ‘almosts’.”

“Almosts.” I knew perfectly well what that meant.

“His mind has been elsewhere for the last few years. He’s been a soldier for most of his life, but this war has kept him busier than usual.” She handed me some leather strips. “How about you? Do you have a man?”

I shook my head. “Not for years.” _And good riddance._

She took one of the leather strips out of my hand. “You and Ralof seem to be getting close,” she said. “And you are speaking much better, now.”

“Ralof is a good friend. Faendal, too.” It was true. Faendal, despite our awkward first introduction, had been a wonderful help in learning the language. And I was delighted to get my hands on a bow and arrows again, which I hadn’t used since my high school gym class – the kind of arrows with hard rubber tips. “They both teach me the words. And Faendal teaches me to use the bow.”

“How are Faendal and Camilla doing?” Gerdur asked.

I laughed a little. “Good, now that Sven leaves Camilla alone. I cannot believe Sven wanted me to lie for him, to make Faendal look bad. What a… a dog.”

Gerdur laughed. “Agreed. Lies are no way to win a woman’s heart.”

Sven, the bard who often played in the tavern, had a crush on Camilla, who worked in the village’s trade goods store. Faendal had been courting the woman for months, I was told, and only recently did the two finally get together officially. Sven, for whatever reason, tried to give me a letter to give to Camilla, supposedly from him – a love letter, he had said. But I had sensed something was amiss, and opened the letter. I still couldn’t read all that well, but knew something was wrong when I saw Faendal’s name at the end. I showed the letter to Ralof, who helped expose Sven’s lies. We did it quietly, though, so that the entire village didn’t have to know about his indiscretions. Sven hated me and Ralof from then on, though.

Gerdur and I worked in silence for a while. “By the way,” she later asked, “is it true what Ralof says, that you’re from the future?”

I frowned, because it was probably not true. Still, I couldn’t just go back on what I had said to Ralof. Future or past, there was no other way to explain I was from another dimension, another planet, or whatever.

“Yes,” I said. “A long, long time from now. This language is very much changed. Trolls, dragons do not exist. They are… things of scary stories. Even gods do not exist.”

“No gods?” Gerdur appeared shocked, and laughed nervously. “That’s surprising.”

“Ralof said the big stones not far from here gave the gift of the gods, a power. Which gods did he mean? What are they called?”

“They are the _Aedra_ , nine of them. They are _rega_. I know Ralof explained to you about Talos, the god that the Empire wants to take away from us.”

“Yes, he explained.”

“And there are… maybe twenty _Daedra_. They are not _tilbat_ much anymore.”

“’Tilbat’?”

Gerdur thought a moment. “Talked to. Asked favors of.”

_Prayed to. Got it._

“Ask around, I’m sure someone has a book you can borrow. You are learning to read, yes?”

I nodded. “Slowly. There are words I hear in my head now when I read books.”

“Good.” Gerdur set down the axe we had repaired and turned toward the wood pile. I followed. “So, tell me,” she said. “How in _Ommin_ did you get here from the future?”


	13. Mages Need Not Apply

“‘When the Dragon-born ruler… loses his… th-throne, and the White Tower… falls. When the Snow Tower… lays?’,” I looked up at Ralof, who shook his head.

“‘Lies’,” he corrected me.

“—lies _k-krant_? What is _krant_?”

Ralof thought a moment. He looked around the small house I was staying in and walked over to a shelf, grabbed several mugs, stood them in a sort of pyramid on the dining table, and then toppled them over. “ _Krant,_ ” he said, pointing at the toppled mugs.

I guess that made sense. A toppled tower. “‘When the Snow Tower lies toppled, king-less, bleeding, the World-Eater w-wakes, and the… Wheel turns upon the Last Dragon-born’ _.”_ I finally finished reading, aloud, the book that I had grabbed in the Helgen dungeons while we ran from the _Lokolten_ and the dragon. I didn’t understand a lot of its contents, but Ralof told me the story was a well-known legend.

Ralof had made it his job to help me to read Norren, and to speak better too. Between that and helping out at the lumber mill, and spending some time with Faendal training with a bow and arrow, learning this language was practically all I did over the three months I had lived in Riverwood. This was also how I learned the correct spelling of Thrynn’s name.

_Fucking Thrynn._

I also noticed that I had lost a considerable amount of weight, because I could finally wrap around my body the mage’s robe that Ralof had given to me in that cave after the dragon attack. That, and my bra was getting loose. I noticed that none of the women here had any sort of fancy underwear, but rather used a broad linen fabric to support their breasts, and linen underwear similar to boxer-briefs. I decided to keep my bra for a little while longer until it was no longer wearable, but knew eventually I would have to learn how to use a linen chest binding.

I liked how the mage’s robe made me feel. The fabric was nice now that it had been washed, and it just felt right to wear it. I remembered what Ralof had said to me in the cave about the robe – it was “for the magic” – and I wondered if it was supposed to enhance whatever powers I had.

“I should probably go to Windhelm soon,” Ralof said, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Ulfric is the jarl there. I haven’t heard anything from him; I need to go see if he made it back alive.”

Ulfric Storm-Cloak. Lion Man. He was with us at Helgen, and the reason I was arrested by those soldiers. Ralof had explained to me that he was part of Ulfric’s personal guard. Ulfric had challenged the King of Sky-Rim, and the king had been killed. This should have made Ulfric king, but people said he cheated when he killed the current king, calling him a murderer. The dead king’s palace was far to the west, and Ulfric and his guard were travelling back east when they were ambushed by the _Lokolten_. Ulfric had ordered Ralof and the four other Storm-Cloaks to surrender, to not die foolishly that day. Ralof knew this was a mistake, but followed Ulfric’s orders. Ulfric was then bound and gagged as I had been, and then a dragon saved our lives.

Ralof blamed himself for not protesting more that I was not with them, that I was not a Storm-Cloak, but according to him it wouldn’t have mattered much.

“I also need to check in with Galmar.” Galmar was Ulfric’s second-in-command, as Ralof had told me a while back. He was Ralof’s commanding officer. “You should come with me,” he added.

“To see Ulfric?”

“Yes, and see Windhelm. You can talk to Galmar, see about joining the Stormcloaks. They don’t have any mages, I don’t think. But perhaps they’ll make an exception. Besides, from Windhelm you can get a ride to the College.”

Ralof was smiling at me. A hopeful smile that said, “Please come with me.” I wasn’t so sure I wanted to be traveling right now or any time in the future. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to join a war that wasn’t really my war to fight. I was anything but an athlete, but I was, apparently, a mage, and I did need to go to this college everyone kept talking about.

“Alright,” I said, smiling, “I leave with you.”

“Ha!” Ralof grinned and playfully clapped my shoulder. “Great. We can leave whenever you’re ready. It will be cold there this time of year; I’ll make sure to get you warm clothing.”

. . . . . .

In order to get to Windhelm _,_ Ralof and I had to make a day’s walk north to a town called Whiterun where a horse-drawn cart would take us all the way to the big city. The journey took three days. We had to camp the first night, but the second night we stayed in a small village. Before the sun set on the third day, we arrived at the stables at the city’s outskirts.

Ralof was right about the area being cold. I was shivering under my fur cloak, despite also being given fur clothing to wear. Generally I liked cold weather, but this was ridiculous. From the cart I grabbed my large knapsack full of my other clothing and few belongings, and we set off into the city.

The guards of Windhelm were dressed exactly like Ralof had been when I met him; they were all Storm-Cloaks. Ralof was not wearing his uniform now, though, but warmer civilian clothing.

Unlike Riverwood, everything in Windhelm was built of stone. We passed many houses and other buildings until we finally came to the largest building in the city with two massive doors and multiple guards in front. This must have been the “king’s house” that Ralof mentioned. A palace.

I was grateful for the warmth I found inside. We took off our fur cloaks and walked forward, passing an enormous banquet table. At the end of the long hall stood an oversized stone throne, and I wondered if all jarls lived in places like this. I heard men’s voices in a room to our left, and Ralof turned in that direction.

To say I was overwhelmed by the sight in the next room would be a complete understatement.

Standing before me and Ralof were three enormous men. One older man, with a bear-head headdress and an impressive grey-blonde beard, squinted his small blue eyes at me. Another man with reddish light-brown hair and darker goatee was dressed similarly to the older man but without the headdress; he was smiling. The men were even more massive than Ralof, which I would have thought humanly impossible were it not for me already meeting the third man. This man had strawberry blonde hair and goatee, was taller than the other two, and was wearing elaborate steel armor and a fur coat. I recognized this tall man as Ulfric Storm-Cloak. He was not looking at me.

“Ralof!” Ulfric approached my friend with a broad smile on his face. “Thank Talos you lived.” The men clasped aone another’s forearms and gave each other a brotherly hug. “No one had heard from you. The only other Stormcloaks I knew that made it out alive were Olga and Vilgun. Where have you been?”

“Riverwood. Hiding out, spending time with family, and helping my friend here, Deb.” Ralof turned and smiled at me.

Ulfric studied me for a moment. “Ah, yes, the woman from the cart. Were you a horse _tofur_ , too?”

“Horse?” I asked. “No.”

“She was just travelling east, as we were. Wrong place, wrong time,” Ralof said, giving me an apologetic smile.

“Ralof says they—” I struggled to remember the word he used to describe the attack “—ambushed you. I walked north, and I… heard… whispers. They hid, and I saw. They were angry.”

I worried about my accent, my pronunciation, my grammar. Ulfric and the man with red goatee didn’t seem to pick up on anything strange, but the man dressed head-to-toe in a bear skin held a rather disapproving look on his face.

“Where were you headed?” asked the man with red goatee. He had a very, very thick accent and spoke like his tongue was too big for his mouth. I could barely understand him.

“Here,” I replied. “And, after, Winterhold, the college.”

“She’s a mage,” Ralof said, plainly. “Needs training, though.” I shot him a look. “What? It’s true.”

I knew it was.

“A mage, huh? What in _Ommin_ are you doing here, then?” asked Bear Man.

“Galmar, please,” Ulfric grumbled.

Apparently Bear Man was Galmar, Ralof’s commanding officer.

“She wants to join the fight, Galmar,” said Ralof.

The three enormous men looked at me questioningly. “A mage? In the Stormcloaks?” the man with the red goatee asked in his marbled accent. He looked over at Galmar and Ulfric and shrugged.

“She’s also been training with a bow and arrow,” Ralof added.

“I don’t have time for this,” said Ulfric. “Galmar, Yrsarald, _nylithen_ are your business.” He turned to Ralof. “Ralof, come. I need to speak with you and Jorleif.”

“Sure, Ulfric. Ralof turned to me and grasped my shoulder. He smiled before leaving the room.

I watched Ralof leave the way we came, and then turned back to Galmar and the other mountain of a man, whose name was something I doubted I could pronounce correctly.

“Well, mage, how good are you with your arrows?” asked Galmar.

I shrugged. “I hunt deer, but miss when they run.”

“Is there anything else you can do?” asked the other man with the impossible name and accent. “ _Folhet?_ Armor _fortilel_?”

I shook my head. I figured if I didn’t understand what he was asking, I probably couldn’t do it.

The two men exchanged looks, and then Galmar turned to me again. “What would you do if your magic ran out?” he asked. “Would you be able to hit a man’s neck with an arrow if he were running at you?”

“His neck?” I asked, and thought about the scenario. “Maybe.”

“How good are you with that axe at your hip?” the other man asked.

“I killed one man at Helgen,” I said matter-of-factly. Killing one man to these soldiers likely wasn’t a big deal, but it was all I had. I didn’t delight in the idea of killing more people, but I also did not like the idea of the people who tried to kill me ruling this country. From what Ralof told me, those people, who supported being part of an empire run by a foreigner, really, really should not win this war.

“But,” I added, wanting to be honest, “the axe is heavy for me.”

The two men looked to each other once more, turned away from me to talk in whispers, then turned back to me. Galmar spoke. “Look, mage, I don’t want to be sendin’ some child into war and then have their blood on my hands. I’m sure you want to join just as much as the next man or woman, but I can’t in good _halet_ let you walk onto the battlefield without bein’ able to defend yourself properly. You can’t be stoppin’ in the middle of a fight to drink some magical _galgerth_. When the magic runs out, you’ll be needin’ another way to fight, and I just don’t see that in you.”

The man with the red goatee smiled sympathetically. “I’m sorry. Maybe come back when you’ve trained more with that axe.”

Galmar and the other man walked past me toward an open door with stairs leading up. The one with the red goatee turned back and asked, “What was your name again?”

“Deborah,” I answered.

The man nodded, and then shut the door behind him.

I sighed, looked around the room, and walked over to a map on a table where figurines of varying shapes were planted. A war map.

“Skyrim,” I said to myself as I studied the map. Not Sky-Rim. I had no idea where any of the towns were, and a lot of terms on the map were unknown to me, but I finally found Windhelm.

Windhelm was a large city in the northeast, north and west of a wide river. Running along the entire eastern and southern border of the country was a mountain range. North of Windhelm, past smaller mountains, was Winterhold, a smaller city hugging the northeast coast. Directly west in the center of the northern Skyrim coast was a place called Dawnstar, and west of that, across a wide bay, was a town oddly named what I thought to mean Being Alone. Perhaps it rather meant something like Solitude. From the map’s drawings it appeared that southeast of Solitude was a marshland, south of which was a town called Morthal. Traveling southwest, across a vast area of what must have been grasslands, was a small town or village called Rorikstead. Directly west of that village, across a broad and long mountain range and parallel river, was what looked to be a large city called Markarth. In the far south of the country was a town called Falkreath, just east of which sat Helgen, where the dragon had attacked. To the far southeast, adjacent to a large lake, was Riften, and north of there a town called Shor’s Stone. And dead center in Skyrim was Whiterun, northwest of an impressive mountain that I recalled seeing.

I would have to ask around where I could get a portable map.

Sometime later, Ralof returned with Ulfric, but Ulfric headed up the same stairs the other men had gone. Ralof joined me in front of the map.

“First time seeing our country?” he asked.

“Yes. I can see the writing of the names of places.”

“So, what did Galmar say?” Ralof turned to me with a hopeful smile. “He usually gives _nylithen_ some sort of test. Sends them somewhere, or makes them _berjest_ with him or another officer.”

“Test? No. He said I will die if I battle. I think he is not wrong.”

“Well, I disagree,” Ralof said, obviously annoyed. “I think you’d be fine. He just doesn’t want mages in his army.”

“Why not?”

Ralof sighed. “Come on, we can spend the night in the _kastalan_. I’ll explain over some mead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last edited: 8/18/17


	14. Weakness

“Weak? _Puh_.”

Half an hour after Ralof and I began drinking in the barracks of the palace, I was already drunk from downing two stein-fulls of mead. The stuff tasted sweeter than I expected, and went down way too easily.

I couldn’t get over what Ralof had told me about the _Nor_ people, Nords, and how most of them felt about mages.

“I am not weak,” I said. “I kill men. They flied through the air!” I was oblivious to my flailing hand gestures until after I had made them, and laughed at myself and my drunkenness. And then I frowned. “I kill men, Ralof.”

“Do you mean you killed men?” he asked.

“Yes, killed. Before. I killed with magic. I save—saved people. I saved myself.”

“I’m not surprised you would save people.” Ralof scratched his blonde stubble, and looked at me, studying me.

“What?” I asked, staring back at him.

Ralof smiled. “Nothing, nothing.” His smile grew wider. “You’re quite _ofrava_.”

My face turned hot and I giggled. “Thank you, you’re also _ofrava_.” I smiled my best smile at the handsome man and took another swig of the sweet honey-wine.

Ralof chuckled. “No, I am not _ofrava_. It takes much more mead to get me _ofrava_.”

I set down my stein and furrowed my brow. “ _Ofrava_ meannns… something good, yes?” I thought it meant something like pretty or handsome, something like that.

Ralof took a bite of bread and swallowed before answering. “I suppose it depends on how you feel about being _ofrava_ ,” he said. He stared at me more. “It means you’ve had too much mead. Like that night in Riverwood when you drank all of Delphine’s wine. Don’t you remember?” He then laughed. “I suppose you wouldn’t remember that night. I called you _ofrava,_ then.” He took a sip of his own mead. “I suppose I haven’t taught you enough of our language. What did you think it meant?”

I was certain I was blushing. I looked down at my hands and ripped off a piece of bread and shoved it in my mouth. I washed it down with more mead before answering.

“Another thing,” I finally answered. I took more sips of mead. “Ralof, what is a word for who… who is… pleasing to you?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, ‘I enjoyyy’ bread and mead, but… a person. ‘I enjoy you’.” I immediately hid my face behind my drinking stein.

“’I enjoy you’ works fine, I suppose.” He ran his fingers over his chin. “But I think you mean to say, ‘I know you well,’ as one would think of a friend. Then of course, there is ‘I _loska_ you’ but that is more for family, or a lover. And ‘I _thrae_ you’ is only for lovers.” He winked, and sipped his mead.

I scrunched my nose. “Complicated.” I sipped my mead. “I know you well,” I repeated. I supposed _loska_ meant love, and _thrae_ , desire. “I think… I think I know you well, Ralof.”

“Yes, I know you well, too.” Ralof smiled and took a bite of cheese.

I uncorked another bottle of mead and poured the contents into my and Ralof’s stein.

“I suppose you’ll be going to that College soon, then?” Ralof asked.

“Yeahhh,” I answered. “I need to learn magic.”

“Maybe after you learn about it, you can ask again to join the Stormcloaks.”

“Maybe. But Ralof, I do not know if….” I searched for the words I wanted to use. “I do not know if I want to fight. I am not a soldier. I enjoy peace.”

Ralof looked up at me from his stein, clearly offended. “We all want peace, Deb. The Stormcloaks fight for peace.”

“You fight for freedom. From the… empire.”

The man nodded. “In this case, it’s the same thing.”

We drank in silence for a short while until I spoke again. “Yes, I go to college soon. How many gold is a cart ride to Winterhold?”

“Fifty _septims_ , I believe. The five hundred you earned while in Riverwood should be enough for a while.”

“And… _septim_ is a gold coin?”

“Yes.”

“Does college need septims?”

“I don’t know.”

“What I do if college needs septims?” I looked over at Ralof, honestly concerned. College admission in America was excessively expensive.

Ralof sipped his mead. “I suppose, if it costs money to enter, you could always offer to do work for them, or in the town of Winterhold itself. Or, if you have to, return to Windhelm to work for a while.”

I finished the last of the mead in my stein and then asked, “Ralof, how you say, the thing you say, when you do not like someone not there?”

“What? I don’t understand the question.”

I sighed. Drunk and not fluent in a language was a bad mix. “When I go to college, I… will be sad.” Finally, I remembered the future tense verb prefix. “I will be sad you are not with me. How do you say to someone?”

Ralof swigged the remainder of his mead and answered, “I _sekna_ you. Or, I _skul sekna_ you, if it is in the future.”

“ _Sekna_ ,” I repeated. “Yes, I _skul sekna_ you. I will miss you many.”

“Much,” he corrected. I didn’t expect Ralof to reach across the small table and grasp my hand. He smiled when he did so. “I will miss you too, Deb. It has been fun teaching you our language.” His smile was unbelievably sweet. “Obviously the gods want you here, to bring you all the way through time itself. How could I refuse them?”

Still holding hands, I asked him, “Where you go from here?”

“Far to the west.”

“When I see you again?”

“I don’t know. But, I hope I will—” he pointed at me, still trying to teach me how to speak correctly “— will be seeing you soon.”

“You will come to Winterhold?”

Ralof squeezed my hand and let it go. “No, I don’t think so. No one wants to go to Winterhold unless they have to, like you do. No _Lokolten_ will be there, that is for sure. The Stormcloaks have no reason to be there. But, we will often be in Windhelm, so I’m sure I will see you back here at some point.” He smiled, and then stood from the table to stretch his muscular body.

I myself was getting tired, so I reluctantly admitted to myself it was time to go to bed. We were in the barracks, where guards and soldiers normally slept, but there was no one in the room but us. Ralof walked over to an empty bed and plopped himself down with a satisfied grunt. I popped a red berry in my mouth and held it there while I made silent deliberations on what to do.

Ralof was stretched out on the small bed, eyes closed and beginning to relax. I examined the shape of his body in his winter clothing. Even fully clothed I could see the memorized contours of his muscles. I silently cursed at myself for not making a move back in Riverwood. Other than that day I kissed him in the hideout, I had never given him any indication of my feelings for him. I constantly wondered why he had never talked to me about that kiss. I feared he never did so because he did not feel that way about me, and didn’t want to hurt my feelings. But all of his actions – taking time to teach me his language, inviting me to come with him to Windhelm, hoping I would join the Storm-Cloaks, holding my hand….

I squished the red berry between my tongue and palate and tasted the sweet-sour juice as it flowed around my mouth. I let it sit there a moment before swallowing.

 _Do it_ , I ordered myself.

I lifted my wobbly self from my chair and walked over to Ralof. I lifted one leg and stretched over the man, straddling him. Together, his thick thighs were as wide as a small horse’s back. Not yet asleep, Ralof looked up at me in surprise. Not wanting to let him protest too quickly, I leaned forward and kissed him. My palms cupped his bristly cheeks, holding his face to mine. His body stiffened and relaxed. It took him a moment, but soon Ralof had his hands on top of mine, grasping at my wrists. His lips parted, and I felt the heat of his mouth and tongue. His grip on my wrists tightened, then lessened, and his hands drifted down to my waist. I pressed against the man’s waist, and through his thick trousers I felt a familiar stir.

Our kiss intensified. His lips vibrated in a faint, muffled moan. His strong, rough hands traveled up again, and once more gripped my wrists. His grip tightened. He pushed my hands away.

“Deb,” he said in a brief moment where my lips left his. I pressed myself harder against him, not wanting to allow him to speak.

_Don’t speak. Don’t tell me to stop. Don’t tell you me you don’t want this._

I felt his tongue once more against mine. His thumbs caressed the soft underside of my wrists as his fingers gripped them like shackles. I felt his desire grow beneath me.

He pushed again, harder, lifting my hands clear off of him and my lips and body as well. The word “no” was uttered at the same time, and my heart sunk.

Ralof groaned. Still shackling my wrists with his hands, he gently urged me further away from him, far enough that he could release his grip and stand, leaving me sitting alone on the small bed. He took a few steps away from me. Facing the wall, his back toward me, he ran a hand down his shoulder-length blonde hair. He gently banged a fist against the stone. His frustrated groan echoed around the room.

I curled up into myself on the bed, tucking my knees beneath my chin, and sat watching him, half hoping him to change his mind, walk back over to me, and fuck me senseless. But I knew better.

Still facing away from me, Ralof finally spoke. “I can’t, Deb.”

“Can’t, or do not want?”

The man sighed, and then finally turned around to look at me. He had the most pitiful look on his face, something between shame and horror. He took tentative steps toward me, and finally sat back down on the bed. His face fell into his palms, and he slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry,” was all he said.

“Sorry? Why? I kissed you.”

“For… giving you the wrong idea. For not telling you.”

“Telling me? What?” My knees dropped from my chin and my feet found the floor. “Are you married?”

Ralof shook his head. “No, not yet.”

I stared at him. “Not yet?” _Godfuckingdamn it. Godfuckingdamn it all._

“I… I _loska_ someone. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. No one knows but her and me.”

I let out a slight groan and rubbed my temples. _“_ Her name?”

Ralof sighed, and with the brightest smile I had ever seen on his face, spoke her name. “Eyleif.” _Damn._

“She is a Storm-Cloak?” Something told me he would completely fall head-over-heels in love with a warrior-woman.

“Yes,” he answered. _Damn it._ “She’s under my command, which is why no one can know, not yet.”

I stood from the bed and slumped into one next to Ralof’s. I lay down, facing him, dejected and not caring that it showed.

“I’m so sorry, Deb. I didn’t think… I didn’t think you would feel for me in that way.”

“How could I not?” _Why am I still talking?_ Alcohol was my truth serum. I then refused to look at Ralof, knowing I would just start to cry if I did.

I heard him move, and when I looked up, he was kneeling in front of me, reaching to grasp one of my hands. “I _loska_ you, Deb. I _loska_ you like I _loska_ my sister. You’ve come to mean a lot to me. I truly mean that.”

I slipped my hand out of his grasp and turned to lie on my back, and stared at the ceiling. _Like his sister. Goddamn it._

“Are you angry?”

I exhaled slowly, deeply through my nose, and then turned my head to face him. “No,” I said, truthfully. “Just…” I felt myself blushing, and looked away. “I think wrong.”

Ralof’s rough palm caressed my forehead and smoothed back my mussed hair. His lips found my cheek and planted a brotherly kiss. “If it weren’t for Eyleif,” he began.

I honestly wasn’t sure what I was more upset about – the fact that I might never get to feel Ralof’s ridiculously god-like body thrust against mine, or that he loved someone else, and I might never know what it was like to be loved by him romantically.

“I am fine, Ralof. I am… happy for you. I am.” I turned onto my side, facing away from him. “Good night.” To my relief, Ralof went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last updated: 8/18/17


	15. Friends in Stone Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The remainder of this story has not yet been edited as of 8/18/17.

The following morning I woke up with a pounding headache and feeling very, very depressed. I looked over to where Ralof had slept, but he was not in his bed and his knapsack was missing. Several men and women, likely guards, occupied other beds. I gathered the few belongings I carried with me and headed downstairs to the main hall where I hoped I would be allowed to eat something for breakfast. I slumped down onto a bench a few down from some Storm-Cloak soldier, grabbed an apple and started eating. No one said anything, so I stopped worrying.

As I spread some soft blue-veined cheese onto bread, I saw that huge man with the impossible name and accent walking in from the map room. He smiled, and then sat himself down on the bench across from me. He cut off slices of some sort of meat, sliced up some yellow cheese, and made himself a sandwich. He washed it down with what smelled like mead. I opted for plain old water.

"Deborah, correct?" the enormous man said between bites.

I nodded. "Sorry, I forgot your name."

"Yrsarald Thrusagot," he said.

I chuckled and shook my head. "I will never be able to say that." I stopped laughing when I realized how insulting that probably sounded. I felt my face flush.

But the enormous man erupted in guttural laughter, jovial and light-hearted. Relief washed over me, and I smiled. I chugged down more water to force the hangover away, all the while fantasizing about coffee.

Lattes. Cappuccinos. I was still in withdrawal.

I got sight of some sort of pastry not far from me on the table and stood to grab it. It was like a Danish, but not as sweet.

"Eer-sa-rald," I attempted to say the man's name, slowly.

"Good enough," he said.

"Is Ralof here? I didn't see him this morning."

The man… Eersarald… Irsarald… Yrsarald… looked up at me from his sandwich which he gripped with both of his enormous hands. He continued chewing and then swallowed before answering. "Meeting with Galmar right now."

I rubbed my aching left temple, and continued to force my hangover away with food. The mountain of a man and I ate in silence for a while, until I spoke. "Eersarald, can I get map of Skyrim? Small one, for traveling."

He gave a light grunt and nodded. "Ask Jorleif, the  _yarmathir_."

"Which one is he?"

I didn't expect him to bellow out the man in question's name at the top of his lungs. A man with an impressive mustache entered the hall from another room.

"Yes, Yrsarald?" Mustache-Man, Yorleif, or Jorleif, said.

"Deborah would like a small map of the country," Yrsarald the Mountain-Man said. "You should have a few, yes?"

"Of course. I'll go get one."

Mountain-Man turned to me and smiled. "Where are you traveling to? The College, yes?"

"Yes. And… I want to understand more the places. And names." I gulped more water. "For names, I am not sure, how do you write yours? Could you write it for me?"

The man stared at me over his mug. I knew that look. It meant "why do you need to know that?" But the man didn't ask why. "Sure. Come with me." He stood from the table and walked toward the map room, and I followed. He grabbed a quill and inkpot from a table, found a scrap piece of paper, and wrote out his full name then handed the paper to me.

I examined the writing. "Yrsa-rald… Thru-sa-got," I read his name slowly.

"You have an odd  _hrem_ ," he said.

"What is a  _hrem?"_ And there was that look, the one that said, "what do you mean,  _what do I mean_?" I sighed, and figured I would just say it. "I am not from here," I said, as if the man didn't know that already.

"Well that is obvious," Yrsarald said. He leaned against the stone wall, crossed his arms over his chest, and studied me for a moment. "Are you from High Rock?"

"Where?" I shook my head. "No, no. I am not from this land. Not anywhere." I buried my face in the palm of my hand and groaned.  _How many times will I have to explain this?_

The man exhaled slowly, loudly. "A  _hrem_  is a way of speaking, a way someone says words." An accent. Got it. He was one to talk….

I lowered my hands from my face and looked at the man who was looking intently at me. "It is… a long story. Too tired to explain now." I rubbed my forehead. "Yrsarald… is there a… tea… to drink after a night of drinking mead?"

Yrsarald laughed that guttural laugh again. "I'd heard you and Ralof drank a lot last night. Yes, there is a tea for that. Go up to see Wuunferth the mage. He will have something to buy."

"Thank you," I said quietly before starting for the steps that led upstairs, but being completely unsure of myself, particularly this morning, I turned back to Yrsarald. "Show me the way?" I asked.

The man's light red-brown goatee spread as his mouth widened in a smile. "Sure, Deborah."

His accent may have been impossible, but I sure liked the way he said my name. He rolled the R slightly, and didn't over-stress the first syllable.

Wuunferth Akiker. I asked the mage to write out his name for me, too. I thought it might help me learn the language, particularly with reading it. After reading several short books in this language, I was eager to read more. Wuunferth had an extensive library, and I expected the college to have an even bigger one.

The mage sold me some mixture of dried leaves for a tea meant to stimulate the heart and help assuage hangovers. I also bought some more "women's tea" as the people of this country called it, which dulled a woman's monthly lady pains. Finally, I bought a substantial amount of a tea that women could drink every morning to help prevent pregnancy. I had started to drink it while living in Riverwood, having purchased a supply from Orgnar who worked at the inn there, half expecting to need it in case Ralof and I had sex. I stopped drinking that particular tea this morning, but I figured I would buy more now, just in case I needed it later. The last thing I wanted was another "I was pregnant?" moment, and I didn't want to know what practicing magic while pregnant would do to a developing fetus. I didn't necessarily expect to need to drink the tea anytime soon, but from what Ralof said about Winterhold, it sounded desolate, and I wasn't sure they would have teas up there.

The old mage was excited that I was going to the college, and asked me to deliver a letter to the leader there, Savos Aren. He told me that the college did not make their students pay for entry, but they did have to prove their abilities before being allowed on college grounds. He asked me why I was going there, which type of magic I wanted to study, but I answered truthfully – that I had no idea what was going on with whatever power I had, and I needed to talk to other mages, and probably practice a lot. I told him about the lightning incidents, and then about nearly dying of infection and not only healing myself with a warm yellow light, but also healing someone else who was also dying.

Wuunferth tried to explain to me that those two types of magic, the lightning and the healing magic, were different, and that I may have to choose which I concentrate most on honing. There was nothing wrong, however, with practicing more than one type, according to him. He even taught me some magic-words "for a low price", and wrote them down for me, too.

As Wuunferth explained it, spells worked best when spoken in a powerful language. The language he and I were speaking would suffice, but he was convinced that the older the language used to cite the incantation, the better the spell worked. I wasn't in any position to argue, seeming as how magic actually existed in this land, so I took the mage's word for it.

The language he preferred to use was called Ehlnofex. He wrote the name down for me. He said this language was the first language of mortals and many other languages developed from it. When I told Wuunferth that I dabbled in studying languages myself, he grew even more excited to discuss the subject with me. I avoided telling him I was from another time, however. I completely let go of the idea that I would leave for Winterhold that morning and spent several hours with the mage discussing magic and magic-words.

When he showed me how he used the ancient words to intensify a healing spell, I was quite impressed.

" _Meirheiluun,"_  the mage spoke before his entire body was encased in a swirling yellow light.

"Do I need to speak the words to heal like that?" I asked.

"No, the incantation merely enhances the effects, makes them more efficient." He wrote down the word he spoke for me. "This is not how it is written in Ehlnofex, that  _stefrufit_  is long-dead; I am writing it in Norren so you may be able to read it."

"Thank you."

"Go ahead, Deborah. Try the spell."

I looked at the word Wuunferth had written down for me, righted my posture, and said the word. " _Meirheiluun."_  I felt a warmth; that same warmth I felt when I was dying in the cabin with Thrynn. The incantation worked.

"Very good! You will have no problem getting into the College, my  _kaer_. In fact…." Wuunferth stroked his large, white beard, and then walked over to his desk. "I'm going to write a letter to Mirabelle Ervine. She's the head  _kenaris_  there at the College, and she will be the one you _tilkinas_ to when you arrive. You can tell her I sent you with my  _tilogen_. Stop by here tomorrow – I'll have the letter ready by then."

"Thank you, Wuunferth, for everything." I smiled and grabbed my pouches of teas, stuffed them in my knapsack, then turned to leave. I headed downstairs and ran into Yrsarald again. He was standing with Galmar, Ulfric, and Ralof in the map room. I smiled briefly at Yrsarald, but stopped smiling when I saw Ralof. I wasn't angry with him – truly, I wasn't – I just wasn't happy with him, either. I turned to Yrsarald. "Where can I go to buy and sell things?"

"The Stone  _Stath_ ," Yrsarald answered. "Keep walking straight when you leave here, then take a right at the main gates, by the inn."

"Thank you, Yrsarald." I smiled at him again, and ignored the other men. I left the map room and headed to the stone something.

It was freezing outside, and snowing, so I put on my fur cloak. When I turned right at the inn, I began to hear what sounded like normal marketplace ruckus, and knew I was headed in the right direction. I heard the clanking of metal-on-metal and smelled something burning, and sure enough, there was a blacksmith. Exactly what I wanted.

I walked into the shop, grateful to get out of the snow. I unhooked my axe from my hip and turned to a bald, kind-looking man. "Can I trade this for something less heavy?" I asked him.

The blacksmith looked up from his desk and then walked over to me. "Let's see." He reached for the axe, moved his arm around a bit while holding it, then said, "this is Stormcloak  _toluvat_."

"Yes. It belonged to a fallen Storm-Cloak," I said. "Ralof gave it to me when we escaped Helgen."

The blacksmith looked at me with surprised eyes. "Helgen?" his voice was laden with awe. "You were there? Saw the dragon?"

I nodded.

"Is it true it's as big as the palace?"

"Palace? No. Maybe as big as the outside market."

"That's still big." The man frowned, looked at me, and then looked at the axe. "The axe has been used in battle?"

"Yes. Killed a  _Lokolten._ " I hoped that was a good thing.

"One  _Lokolt_  or many  _Lokolten_?" he asked.

Apparently  _Lokolten_  was the plural of  _Lokolt._  "At least one," I said. "It belonged to a man before I had it." I hoped that here, too, weapons that had seen action in wars were more valuable.  _Sometimes watching "Pawn Stars" pays off._

The man scratched his bald head while examining the axe. "You want something lighter?"

"Yes. This axe too heavy for me to swing good."  _Well! Swing well!_  "Ehh, swing well."

The man gave me an odd look, but turned to an impressive array of weapons on the shop wall. "You'd want a sword, then. One-handed. We can make an even trade." The blacksmith hooked my own axe onto the display wall, examined his arsenal, then picked up a shiny pointy thing and walked it over to me. "Try this," he said, handing me the weapon. "It's  _stel_  from my own  _svik_. Lighter than  _jern_ , lighter than an axe."

I stood back and gave the weapon a few swings. He was right; I could swing the weapon without tiring much. I figured it couldn't hurt to have a weapon with me, regardless of whether or not I joined the Storm-Cloaks. And if I was going to carry a weapon, it should be one I could swing more than once. I was satisfied with the trade.

The Storm-Cloak axe, the one Ralof gave me off of his dead comrade, the one I used to kill a man, was now out of my life. I saw it as a sort of symbolic milestone.

"Thank you. Good trade," I said.

The man nodded and led me out of the shop. I walked around the rest of the market, and thought I saw someone strange-looking to my left. I peered over the blacksmith forge and saw a grey-green-skinned person standing behind a kiosk. An elf. I stared, wide-eyed. The person was a female elf, only the second elf that I'd ever seen, and the first female I'd seen. She was also much taller than Faendal, and looked different. I had nothing else to sell, however, so avoided her kiosk. Elves, the realization that they were real, still made me nervous, and I didn't want to insult her by acting strangely around her.

I had no idea what else to do with myself for the rest of the day, so I wandered around the town, and eventually found my way to the inn near the main gates. I entered, hungry for lunch. I purchased some wine and some stew and ate hungrily. When finished, I bought some bread and cheese and more wine, and walked it upstairs where music was being played.

Lots of people were up there. A dark-green-skinned elf woman was playing a lute, and another dark-green-skinned elf was eating her own lunch while listening to the music. Both of them looked different from Faendal as well as the elf in the market. I wondered how much variation elves had, or if they were different species from one another.

Others, people who looked like me – that is, human with light skin – were sitting around tables and chatting. I saw an empty table in a corner far from the lute-player and sat down to enjoy my bread, cheese, and wine.

I took my first bite of cheese when I heard a gruff voice say behind me, "That's  _my_ table." I swallowed my cheese, washed it down with wine, and turned around. The man was obviously some kind of soldier or warrior – bald, middle-aged, and armed to the neck in steel. I turned back around, examined the table, and sipped my wine again. "I don't see your name on it," I retorted, hoping the remark meant the same thing here as it did in my own world.

I half-expended to be pummeled by the old warrior, but instead he just laughed and pulled up an empty chair to sit next to me. "Good answer," he said as he sat down to enjoy his own lunch and a mug of mead.

I decided then that most Nord men, though having all the appearance of being massive, intense macho men, were pretty much just big teddy-bears up for a good laugh. If, of course, teddy-bears could throw you clear across a room. My thoughts led me to picture Galmar in his bear-head headdress getting angry, and I laughed.

"What's so funny?" the man asked.

"Only thinking about a big, angry bear I know," I said, knowing my answer likely made no sense.

The man grunted. "You're new around here. What's your name?" he asked.

"Deborah."

"I'm Stenvar. You a traveler, Deborah?"

"No. Are you?" I sipped more wine.

"Yes."

"Are you a Storm-Cloak?" I asked the old warrior.

"Not anymore," he replied in a softer tone.

"You left the army?"

"No. They kicked me out." He took a gulp of mead and bit at his sandwich.

"What did you do?"

"I disagreed too much," he said through a smile.

I chuckled and nibbled at my cheese.

"That's a nice new sword you're carryin'. Plan on usin' it?" Stenvar asked.

I looked over at the old warrior. "I hope I don't have to. I'm no good with weapons. I just… have it."

"I could train you, for some coin."

"You could?"

"Sure! Got nothin' else to do with my time, lately."

I nibbled more at my cheese. "Maybe another time. I leave for the college tomorrow."

"College!?" he asked excitedly. "You're…. You're a mage?"

I stared over at him, somewhat defiant. "I suppose I am."

" _Hmph_. Well, no  _domir_ , here. I like mages. They've kept me alive." The man grinned. "They do other nice things, too."

I wasn't about to ask what he meant by that; his grin was almost wicked. I finished my bread, cheese, and wine, and then stood to go. "It was nice to meet you, Stenvar."

"Hold on, where's the fire? You got somewhere to be?"

No, no, I didn't. "Ehh…," I bit my lip, not knowing if I wanted to spend more time with the man or if I should seek out Ralof and maybe talk to him. I opted for the former. "No, no, I don't." I sat back down. "So, you said you could train me with swords? Maybe after you finish eating?"

The man smiled. "Thirty septims and you've got yourself a trainer for the afternoon." He scratched his beard. "You can do healing spells, right?"

I nodded.

"Good. You're going to need them." His wink was unsettling.


	16. Early Education

Needless to say, I've learned a few things about life in this world.

One: murderous barbarians, trolls, magic, dragons, giant spiders, gods, elves, magic words... all of these things existed in this world. I often thought about what else existed. My thoughts had at times drifted to Tolkien and the  _Lord of the Rings_  stories. Elves, dwarves, orcs, wizards, hobbits, magic, gods of sorts…. If there were anyone to bet against, I would have bet every single one of those creatures, in some manner, existed here, too. Fairies, sprites, goblins. Zombies, ghosts, vampires, werewolves…. Why not? I lay awake at night sometimes, scared shitless at the prospect of running into one of the four latter creatures. I prayed to the gods that apparently existed here that I never would.

Two: there was no such thing as toilet paper. There were rags, thankfully, which were stored in abundance in outhouses and linen closets. I cringed when I realized that rags were normally "washed" in boiling water to be used again. I was assured it was perfectly healthy, and the additives in the water "killed the dirt", but I had my doubts. Unless things like pubic lice and certain bacteria didn't exist in this world – and maybe they didn't – this was  _not_ healthy. I made it a point to carry a small roll of fresh linen around with me in my knapsack. I considered the possibility that it wouldn't matter – that healing magic may cure whatever someone contracted from sharing ass-wiping rags – but the thought of someone else's feces being rubbed against my butt was enough for me not to care what healing magic could or couldn't get rid of.

Three: only men shaved themselves, and they only shaved their beards or balding heads, and only sometimes. And, when they did shave, they used a sharpened knife or dagger. While living in Riverwood I had asked Gerdur, Ralof's sister, if women ever shaved the hair off their bodies, and she laughed at the prospect. "Women would walk around shivering if we did that," she explained. She occasionally laughed randomly whenever she saw me, after that day. I wasn't sure that leg and other body hair would actually keep someone warmer, but I supposed it could be true. I wasn't used to being so hairy, particularly under my arms, and found myself scratching myself in several places when I thought no one was looking. I was honestly ecstatic, however, that I didn't have to shave parts of my body every day. Not that any woman ever  _had_  to shave, but I'd never been the type of person to willingly throw myself into the "cultural outcast" crowd by walking around showing off a hairy body. I was self-conscious about my less-than-ideologically-perfect body enough as it was. I personally had no problem with hairy ladies, but most people in my world did, so one had to be a brave soul not to care what others thought. I wasn't that soul. I kept my mouth shut about body hair after my talk with Gerdur, not wanting to start a trend in this world.

Four: there was no such thing as antiperspirant deodorant. I'd always been particularly sensitive to the smell of body odors, but thankfully that sensitivity had lessened over the months spent with dirty barbarians. I had gotten used to natural musky scents, and I had actually grown to like Ralof's particular scent. He smelled something of sweat and pine when we were living in Riverwood, and while we were travelling to Windhelm, he smelled of sweat and leather. I tried not to think about Ralof's smell, though. I tried not to think about Ralof. I was more concerned with my own smell. I was fine with not shaving myself, but I was  _not_  fine with smelling like a hairy beast. While in Riverwood, I happily discovered that there  _was_  such a thing as perfumes and scented oils in this world. I bought some from the small shop there, and applied it to my underarms every morning. I thanked the Egyptians for teaching me that perfumes and oils were a viable option to prevent you from offending the noses of others in the absence of deodorant. Instead of smelling like a sweaty horse, I smelled like a flower.

Five: not all men in this country were as enormous as Hod – Gerdur's husband – Ralof, Ulfric, Yrsarald, Galmar and Stenvar, but they were all beefy; the women, too. Some women, like Gerdur, were more beefy than others, and some women were downright manly. This was a trait of the Nords, I learned. "Scares the cold away," Stenvar, my newest acquaintance, had joked when I commented on the stocky Nord build after seeing a warrior-woman walk by me with a raised eyebrow and curious look. Some men in this country, like Lucan Valerius in Riverwood, were built somewhat smaller, but they and "their kind" were from a country south of here called Cyrodiil. I tried my best to explain to Stenvar that the men of this country, Skyrim, were built stronger because it was colder, and they just evolved to be that way, and that, likely, the further south one travelled, the skinnier people would be. Stenvar told me that the elves from very far south are taller and thinner than all races in the world. He thought about what I said, and realized that I was right. I knew I would be. Biological Anthropology for the win.

Finally: Wielding a one-handed sword is surprisingly a  _lot_  like wielding a Nintendo Wii wand, except fifty times worse. My right arm felt as if it would fall off.

As I lay in the snow-covered plaza in the middle of Windhelm, panting, sweating, and whining from sore muscles, Stenvar looked down at me, disapproval written all over his face. We had only been practicing for twenty minutes or so, but I couldn't move any more.

"What the  _rith_  are you doin'? Use your  _rithich'_  healin' magic and come at me," Stenvar ordered.

"Heal… muscles?" I asked.

"Yes, heal your  _feikan_  muscles and get up."

I sighed, but tried the magical word Wuunferth had taught me not long ago. " _Meirheiluun._ " When I uttered the word, the same swirling yellow light encased me, and I felt my aching muscles slowly relax. I groaned in relief, and stood once again to spar against Stenvar.

"Feels good, don't it?" he grinned.

"Yes, big relief," I answered.

"You should think about getting' yourself a  _skjald_."

"A what?"

"A  _skjald."_

"Yes, I heard you; I don't know what a  _skjald_  is."

"Don't know…?" Stenvar hitched his two-handed sword against the back of his armor and glared at me for a moment. "Were you raised in some god-house or somethin'!? How is it you are a Nord but don't speak our language? How… how can you notknow what a  _skjald_  is!?"

I shrugged. "I just don't. Do you know what a  _cappuccino_  is?" I threw some English-Italian at him.

I still desperately wanted some coffee.

Stenvar was severely confused. "Huh?"

"See. If you have never heard the word before, how can you know what it is?" I flashed him a smug smile.

Stenvar crossed his arms. "But… you're a Nord."

"No, I am not."

"But even  _Harsten_  speak the language of Tamriel."

"I am not  _Harsten_." Whatever that was, I was likely not it.

Stenvar started to say something, but the words were caught in his throat. He stood there, scratching his beard, trying to figure me out.

"Come on, Stenvar," I said. "I paid you; train me to use swords. You can make guesses about what I am. If you guess correct, I buy you dinner."

The man grumbled out a sigh, but conceded. "Alright, mage; I'll give you what you paid for. Now, come at me."

Several hours later, we were both spent, despite my healing magic rejuvenating us repeatedly.

"Not a priestess. Not raised by wolves. Well,  _elska_ , I'm out of ideas." Stenvar hitched his sword. "You did well today, though, in the end. Come on, let's go inside before my  _neten_  freeze off. I'll buy you dinner."

"What is  _elska_?  _Neten_?" I asked.

Stenvar laughed as he urged me onwards into the inn. "One of 'em is what you are. The other is somethin' you don't have."

 _Neten_. Freeze off. Nuts. Balls. Testicles. Got it.

That night, I stayed at the inn. It was only ten septims for a room, so I could afford it. I admitted to myself that I was avoiding Ralof by not going back to the palace. For all I knew, he was well on his way west so some Storm-Cloak camp. For all I knew, I would never see the man again.  _Good riddance,_  I thought.  _Let him marry his precious, perfect Eyleif. Whatever_.  _I don't care._

_Liar._

Stenvar and I stayed up drinking that night and enjoyed the good music at the inn. I noticed that people tended to avoid Stenvar, or me, I thought, but I didn't care. I wasn't much of a people person, but Stenvar I liked. He already kind of felt like a crazy uncle that I adored.

"A shield!" I finally figured out what Stenvar meant by  _skjald_. "I suppose I should, but I don't want to spend money on something I may not need. I won't need a shield at college."

"No, probably not. It was just a suggestion." Stenvar chugged his mead. "You'll also need some real armor if you're gonna go out  _aeventyrich'_."

"If I will be what?"

" _Aeventyrich',_ " he repeated the word. I shook my head. _"Aeventyrig."_ Apparently the man used contractions a lot, and clipped his words. This would not be easy. I stared at him. "You know, travellin'. Going out with your sword and shield and killin'  _kithunen_."

"Killing what?"

Stenvar grumbled and his forehead fell to the table. " _Elska_ , you're gonna be the death of me."

Before I went to bed, I bought a pass to use the baths in the cellar of the inn. There were several tubs, each large enough to fit two adults, and all tubs were boxed in by thin wood panels and had curtains for doors. Above the tubs were stores of water that were heated whenever someone ordered a bath. It took a while to wait for the water to be warm enough, but as soon as it was ready, the innkeeper pulled a release and water poured into the metal tub, which was somewhat submerged into the earth. You could even let the water fall over you, like a bucket shower, but I avoided that, unsure of how hot the water would be. I thought if the inn had such a nice bathing area, then the palace must have had the equivalent of a Roman villa bathing area.

There were scents of all kinds made available, each free to use once a bathing pass was purchased. I smelled the oils and opted for something that smelled strikingly similar to orange blossom, which happened to be my most favorite scent in the entire world. All worlds. I read the label on the bottle and it said the name of whatever flower it was, along with the warning of "DO NOT DRINK". Good to know.

I poured some of the oil into my tub and allowed myself to relax. Clean linens were available, as were bars of soap. Since there were candles everywhere, I figured these people knew how to render animal fat into soap as well. Not surprising. I used the suds to wash myself from head to toe. I still longed for hair conditioner and anti-frizz serum, but the fact that I could bathe in clean, amazing-smelling warm water and wash my stinky bits was enough for me. If no one else here bothered with making their hair silky smooth, then neither would I.

The next morning, I visited Wuunferth and retrieved the letter of recommendation he promised to write on my behalf. I didn't see Ralof, but I did see Galmar and Yrsarald. Galmar blatantly ignored me, but Yrsarald smiled and greeted me with a "Good morning, Deborah." I smiled at the nice, humongous man. He was the only person I'd met so far that almost always said my name when I saw them; I wondered if he had short-term memory problems, and had to repeat names, lest he forget them.

I neglected to ask about Ralof. I didn't want to know where he was, I realized. Perhaps I'd ask about him, in time, just to know if he was still alive and well. Alive and well with the Storm-Cloaks. Alive and well without me.

I left the palace and headed directly for the main gates, toward the stables where horse-drawn carts waited like taxis for people to pay them money to take them somewhere. That morning, however, there were no carts waiting to taxi me to Winterhold.

" _Goddamn it_ ," I said in English as I collapsed onto a bench in the inn. The lady innkeeper asked me what was wrong. I switched back to speaking Norren. "No carts outside to take me somewhere," I grumbled. And it was too damn cold to just sit out there, waiting.

"Shame. There will be one. Check back in a couple hours, or maybe leave word with Ulundil at the stables that you're waiting for one. Can I get you anything while you wait?" she asked.

"No," I grumbled. "Thank you." I gathered my belongings and headed out again, back toward the palace. Fate was keeping me here in Windhelm, so I figured I should confront Ralof, if he was still around. If not, at least I could spend time with Wuunferth, who had seemed delighted by my presence yesterday. Or, if Wuunferth was busy, I figured I could just read some of the books that were littered around the palace. I really didn't feel like training with Stenvar again, though I knew this would have been an option, too, if he was around.

"Deb!" I heard my name called from behind me and turned. There was Ralof, beaming with delight, for some reason supremely glad to see me. He trotted up and clapped my shoulder. "Where have you been? I looked for you last night."

"I stayed at the inn," I said plainly.

"Oh. You didn't have to do that. The barracks are barely full."

"It is fine. I had a nice day yesterday, and had a nice time at the inn."

"Well, that's good. So, why are you still here? I thought you'd be going to Winterhold by now."

"No carts. I will check a little later. When do you leave west?"

"Right now, actually. Had some business in the market; I was just going back to the palace to collect my things."

"Oh," I said, not really knowing what else to say. I smiled my best smile, though, and soldiered on. "Stay safe, Ralof. And… thank you, for everything."

To my surprise, Ralof wrapped his arms around me in a warm, gentle hug, one reserved for close friends and family.

Family. Like siblings.

My sigh reeked of desperation, but I returned his embrace, breathing the scent of him in, possibly for the last time.

As Ralof entered the palace, I went in the other direction, toward the main gates and once again to the stables, where there were still no carts. I did what the innkeeper said and told the stablehand that I was waiting for a cart to go to Winterhold. He would let the next cart driver to arrive know, but he warned that carts didn't leave for travel after the sun was in the third quadrant of the sky. I figured that to mean sometime in the mid-afternoon. I gave him my name and mentioned that I was staying at the inn.

On my way back into the city, I ran into Stenvar. "Hey, Deborah! Still hangin' around Windhelm, I see."

"No carts," I explained again.

"Ah, happens sometimes. Actually, I could take you to Winterhold. I have somethin' to give the Jarl there, anyway."

"You have a cart?"

Stenvar laughed. "No, no. But I do have a horse. A big sturdy  _merr_. Could carry the both of us, easily."

I gulped, not sure if I wanted to go off into the icy wilderness alone with someone I'd just met the day before. Someone much stronger than I was. Someone who carried an enormous sword. Even though I liked Stenvar a lot, I wasn't sure about venturing out of the city with him.

The man saw my obvious hesitation, and stated his case. "It takes three days to get there if we go fast. We'll need to camp at night, and I have a big, two-person fur  _stjalt_  we could share. It's cold as  _rith_  up there, and ridin'  _stvova_  on my horse would keep the three of us  _nogar_  warm. We could even do some  _authar_  huntin' along the way." He grinned.

I chuckled and shook my head. "I understood half of what you said."

Stenvar frowned and exhaled slowly through his nostrils. "Look, I'm leavin' in a few days. You can come with me, or wait gods-know how long for a cart you'd have to pay fifty septims for and take just as long, if not longer to get you to Winterhold. Come with me, and you won't pay a single septim. You might even learn a thing or two."

The man had a point.

"Alright," I sighed.

Stenvar looked way too happy at hearing my answer.

"Just," I held up a hand, "one question. What does  _rith_  mean? I hear it all the time, but I don't know that word."

I could feel the vibrations of the man's laughter from where I stood.


	17. A Job

Even though I was going to save money by not taking a cart to Winterhold, room and board still cost money, as did food and bathing, and my funds that I'd saved from my time in Riverwood were beginning to run low. The three days I waited for Stenvar to be ready to depart for Winterhold were spent largely with Wuunferth in the palace, who gladly had me run a few odd jobs around town for him. "Ulfric took the wages for an assistant court mage and put them towards the war," the mage had explained, "but I will gladly pay you a few septims here and there." Mainly, I gave lists to the local apothecary and brought back whatever the items were that I was given.

One day, I watched Wuunferth work over a fancy, glowing table. There were two in his quarters, and I knew one of them was used for mixing potions. On the other table were six blue, glowing markings; a glowing, swirling orb set atop some demonic-looking, horned skull; a huge, opaque purple gemstone; and a soldier's axe. Leaning against the table on the floor were about a dozen more axes, and a bucket of the same, huge purple gemstones. Candles sat atop the table to illuminate the area.

I asked Wuunferth what he was doing, and as best I understood him, he said he was "putting magic into the axes." Enchanting, I guessed. I sat watching the mage, silently taking notes as to not disturb him. I wrote down what the symbols on the table meant. The large symbol in the center, a sword with swirls around it, was the symbol for enchanting. A symbol that looked like a half-alive, half-dead tree was for something that meant "change". A symbol that resembled an archway was for "making/bringing forth". The symbol of a hand on fire was for "making gone". The symbol that looked like a  _triskelion_ was the symbol for "fake". The symbol of a phoenix was "bringing back". I pondered the meanings that Wuunferth gave me, and wrote them down along with a sketch of the symbols in a journal I had bought. My notes were in English.

Change. A half-dead, half-alive tree. I thought perhaps this particular magic brought things back from the dead. I hoped I was wrong. I hoped it meant something more like "balance". Half-dead, half-alive. Something to equalize.

Bring forth. An archway. Maybe this one created portals.

Make gone. Destroy. Fire. This one was pretty obvious. This was the type of magic that created fire, and, I assumed, lightning.

Fake. A swirling symbol. Perhaps this magic created illusions. I immediately thought of that horrible but yet awesome movie "The Craft" and their explanation of "glamor magic". I laughed a little inside.

Finally: Bring back. A phoenix. Restore. Healing magic.

I held off on asking Wuunferth if my guesses were right. I figured I'd learn this and more from the people at the college. The old mage did however explain the huge gemstones to me.

"They contain  _silen_ ," he said.

"What is… what  _are_  'silen'?" I asked.

" _Silen_  are what makes you, you, and me… me. They are what travel back to  _Aetherius_  upon the death of the body."

" _Souls!?"_  I replied in English, horrified. I shook my head and returned to speaking Norren. "They contain the… thing of a person that leaves when dead?" I couldn't think of a better way to define a soul, and neither could Wuunferth.

"Now, now… do not worry your pretty little  _klovt_ , my  _kaer_." Wuunferth walked over to a shelf and picked up a clump of blue crystals larger than his hand, and brought it over for me to hold. "The  _silen_  generally belong to animals and beasts. Sometimes  _kithunen_  are killed, and those gems would contain more powerful  _silen_ , like this one here."

"What are  _kithunen_?" I asked as I gave the hefty gem back to the old mage.

"People that have broken the  _thun_ ," he replied plainly as he continued to work.

"What is a  _thun_?"

Wuunferth put down his equipment, sighed, and turned to me. "My  _kaer_ , I know you are not from this world, but if you keep asking  _kjenel_  questions like that, people will start to think you are slow."

I dropped my quill. Black ink smeared all over my journal page. "What… what did you say?" I asked Wuunferth.

"You heard me. Any half-wit can see it. Or, perhaps not, since I have not heard anyone talking about the woman from another world visiting Skyrim. Perhaps people just think you are slow." He looked at me knowingly. "A  _thun_ is something once broken will get you into trouble. Make it a habit, and you will be a  _kithuner._ "

 _Thun,_ law.  _Kithuner,_ outlaw. Got it.

"I am  _not_ slow _,_ " I protested.

"How long have you been learning our language for, hmm? A year? Your speech is good, but your accent is horrid. There is not one person in this land that does not speak our language." The mage walked over to a tall shelf and pulled out a large bowl full of some kind of powder. "I knew you were not from here the moment you walked into my quarters. The confusion is written all over your  _antlet._ "

"You are correct," I said in a quiet voice. "Except, six months. I have been here for maybe six months. I told you, I study languages. Learning them comes… easy to me."

"Indeed," the old mage said. "And a mage, too. The gods wanted you here for a reason, my  _kaer_. Do not ignore them, when they begin to tell you what they desire of you. But, for now, go to college. Learn.  _Reith_  your power. You will need it later, I am sure."

"You are not the first person to say those words to me." I frowned, and thought of Ralof. "'Here for a reason'. What reason? I am no one."

"You  _will_  be someone, of that I am sure." Wuunferth sat himself down with a grunt, and faced me. "How did you find yourself in this world? Which world did you come from? A realm of  _Aetherius_?  _Ommin_?"

I shook my head. "I don't know what those are. I came from another… another…." Universe. Dimension. Planet. "My world is not on this… round thing."

"This  _lein_?" he asked.

"I don't know the word," I admitted in defeat.

Wuunferth grunted. "Skyrim is on a  _lein_  called Nirn, which has two  _ilmanen,_ Masserand Secunda."

"Two  _ilmanen_ …," I repeated. Two moons, surely he was saying. "Let me guess, 'Masser' is the big one and 'Secunda' the small one."

"Very good, that is correct. Why did you guess that?"

"Because in my world, 'Masser' sounds like a word for 'very, very big', and 'Secunda' means 'second'."

"Ha!" the mage clapped his hands together. "Most interesting."

"Also, where I am from, there is only one  _ilman_."

" _Hmph_. Very interesting indeed. I can imagine the confusion when you saw two."

"Yes, a lot of confusion. Fear."

"Yes, yes." Wuunferth tented his fingers and pressed them to his lips, deep in thought.

"I fell into a cave," I said.

"What?"

"I fell into a cave. That is how I came to be here, in this land. This  _lein_. Sky-Rim. I didn't know I was in a different world, at first…. But then, the moons, magic, trolls and giant spiders... dragons…." I began to cry. I didn't know why I was crying. Well, I kind of knew.

"Dragons? Ah, yes, you were at Helgen. No need to cry, my _kaer_ , you will find yourself, in time." I looked up at the old mage and sniffled, then wiped my face on my tunic sleeve. He was scratching his grey, fluffy beard.

"What?" I inquired about the look he had on his face.

" _Hmph._  Nothing, nothing. Just an old man, lost in his thoughts. Now, a cave, you say? Where was this cave?"

"I don't know…. West." I reached into my knapsack and pulled out the map I was given by Moustache-Man, Jorleif. I flattened out the map on my lap, and followed the river with my finger. "Here is Windhelm," I said to myself, and then I found the river I had followed before being taken prisoner. "This is where I was taken by  _Lokolten,_ " I let Wuunferth follow my finger as I retraced my steps. From the cave we had traveled northwest, and the cabin was not far west of the river. "The cave is somewhere here, I think," I pointed to a blank area south-west of Windhelm, and north-east of what was drawn as a giant mountain. "The cave entrance is on high ground. At the bottom of the hill, there was a river, and a rock shelter."

"Do you think you could find it again?"

My eyes darted up to the old mage _. Return to the cave? Return to the place where I was nearly crushed by a troll and raped by a barbarian? Where I was held captive by that fucking guy Thrynn and forced to piss with my hands tied? No thank you_. "Maybe," I answered, stupidly.

The mage stood and walked over to a shelf filled with tiny bottles. "If that is where you entered this world, then it is possible that there is a  _mirak_  there. A  _mirak_  to your world."

"I could go home?" I asked.

"Mm, _"_ is all the mage said as he examined the contents of his shelf. "Ah,"he exclaimed, grabbing a few of the bottles. "I do not know if you can return home, my  _kaer_ ; I do not know if you should. What I am more concerned about is the presence of an open  _mirak_ , and the possibility of more of your world coming into ours." He placed the tiny glass bottles into a leather pouch, and then walked back over to me. "These are  _galgerthen_  that will allow you to briefly see into other  _sovaaren_ for a limited time. If you can, I would greatly appreciate you  _nisig_ this cave, finding where you entered and making sure there is no open  _mirak."_

Wuunferth sat back down and continued to gaze at me, awaiting a response.

"But I am going to the college, Wuunferth," I said. "I cannot just… go to a cave full of… of…,"I tried to remember the word, " _kithunen_." Outlaws. Bandits. Barbarians.

"Bring a sellsword with you. If you need me to  _ljar_  you some septims, I will."

"Wuunferth…." I stared at my hands in my lap and lowered my voice. "That cave is… was… full of outlaws _._  They held me against my will. I was… taken without my permission." I didn't know the word for 'rape'. "I don't want to go back."

"Many caves are full of outlaws. Many are full of giant spiders and other horrible things. Are you saying you will never, ever enter a cave again?"

I had to think about his question.  _Yes, yes it does_ , I told myself. But, on the other hand…. "I will ask a man called Stenvar. He trained me in swords. He was going to take me to Winterhold tomorrow, but…. Maybe he will want to do this. I think he likes killing outlaws."

"Good, good. No better way to get over a fear than to face it." Wuunferth stood again and unlocked a chest. I heard the unmistakable sound of clinking coins. The mage turned back to me and handed me a leather pouch with a draw-string closure. "Offer these to this Stenvar. Knowing outlaws, there will be plenty of gold and items to sell in their hideout, but sellswords demand money up-front. Once inside the cave, find the place where you fell through. Drink one of these  _galgerthen_. If there is an open  _mirak_ , you will surely see it."

"And what if I am taken again by outlaws? You do not know what I went through…," my grimace, however, likely said it all.

"You will not be taken, my  _kaer_." Wuunferth smiled. "Use the 'chain lightning' magic-word I taught you, if you run into a group of them. Just be careful not to use it when others you do not wish to kill are near. You might fare better by simply healing Stenvar, and let him do all the fighting."

I frowned. "He probably will not like that idea."

I left Wuunferth's quarters unsure of myself and of the mage's plan. I trembled at the thought of returning to the cave, but then again, I was comforted by the idea that Stenvar, a man whose broadsword was almost as long as I was tall, might be willing to go with me.

I trudged back to the inn, which I'd learned was called Candlehearth, and found Stenvar at his usual table, upstairs, downing mead like he was paid to do it. Since I'd met Stenvar and had been staying at the inn, there had been two chairs at his table. I plumped down onto the empty chair and tossed the large draw-string pouch onto the table.

Stenvar lowered his mug somewhat from his face long enough to ask, "What's that?"

I grabbed the bottle of mead that sat half-empty in front of him and chugged the remaining liquid. I burped before answering. "Your payment, if you help me kill some fucking outlaws."


	18. The Return

"You're not goin' dressed like  _that_ , are you?" Stenvar asked me after he agreed to help me find the cave which may or may not still have been full of outlaws. He was overly eager to help, in my opinion.

I was wearing the mage's robe that Ralof had given me in the cave after the dragon attack at Helgen. Wuunferth told me it was the basic robe of a novice mage, and that it helped replenish my energy, enabling me to cast more spells more often. He said the robes were made at the college at Winterhold, and enchanted in "magical waters". I also had fur clothing to wear outside, which was absolutely necessary in this city where wind and snow were a constant bother. My fur cloak was folded over my knapsack.

"This is all I own," I replied, "except for nightclothes, linen tunic and trousers, and fur travel clothes. Should I wear the furs?"

"No,  _elska_ , ya need armor." Stenvar was packing his knapsack in his room at the inn. "If there are outlaws in the cave, ya need more than furs to protect you." He sighed, and scratched his shaved head. "At least buy a shield, if not armor. It's probably too late to get armor fitted, though ya might get lucky n' Oengul may have somethin' that fits you."

"I don't know if I have gold for armor, Stenvar."

"Then use the damn gold you promised me. Ya want me to protect you? Help you kill outlaws? I insist that you get armor or a shield. I won't be answerable to for your death." At that, Stenvar headed out of the bedroom and toward the inn door.

I followed him outside, and down the steps as he walked toward the marketplace. "What kind of armor should I get?" I wrapped my fur cloak around my shoulders.

"Leather, probably. I don't think your soft body could bear steel."

Soft. Thanks, Stenvar.

It turned out that the blacksmith did have some leather armor that fit me. It was used, and therefore cheaper. I also bought bracers for my forearms and a hide shield. Inside the shop was a tall, standing mirror for patrons to see how they looked. That was the first time I'd seen my reflection since leaving my own world.

The sight startled me. My face was far less round than I remembered it being. I actually had cheekbones, now. I had forgotten what it was like to look at myself without glasses. It had been maybe a decade since I'd worn contact lenses, so I saw myself clearly now without any optical appliance on my face for the first time in a long, long time. My blue eyes were icy as ever, and I saw clearly the outline of darker blue around the iris. My eyebrows were a bit of a mess, but not horrible. I made it a point to ask a woman if they had anything to pluck out hairs with.

I took in the sight of myself in leather armor. It was much nicer and more comfortable than the armor I'd worn before when with the outlaws, and was coincidentally cut really well for my thick body. The chest of the armor flattened my bosom and hid my ample cleavage, effectively protecting my chest and neck. Shoulder pieces were attached to the chest piece, and flaps protected the upper arms. Attached to the bottom of the chest piece at the waist were larger flaps of leather to protect my midsection and allowed me to move freely, unlike a long tunic that would have bunched up at the hip. The loose, unpolished leather leggings were easy to get in and out of. They were long enough to cover the shins of the leather boots I bought a long time ago in Riverwood.

I hoped that this was enough to keep me alive.

And then I saw my ponytail, tied back with a leather thong. It had grown longer, much longer than I remembered it being.

I had a flashback to the day Thrynn and I escaped to the cabin. The barbarian leader had tugged at my ponytail and thrown me to the ground. He did so too easily. I reached behind my head, grabbed the long clump of hair, and frowned. I walked out of the changing area and turned to the blacksmith. "I need something to cut my hair," I said, thinking he surely he had scissors around there, somewhere.

He did. I grabbed the scissors from him, walked back over to the mirror, and took one more look at my two-foot-long ponytail. I re-gripped the clump of hair and, in a single cut, lopped off everything up to the end of my fist.

I handed the scissors back to the blacksmith and said, "Where is your broom? I will clean the mess."

* * *

 

Stenvar made me leave behind a few things, like my mage robe and fur clothing. The innkeeper gladly stowed them away for me. I told her when I returned I'd give her even more gold for her trouble.

It took two days to get to the area of the map where I was sure the cave was. Riding double with Stenvar wasn't so bad. The horses of this land were very much like stocky Icelandic ponies whose gait was steadier and less harsh than taller, sleeker horses. Stenvar made me ride in front of him so that his steel-clad body would protect me from the rear. The entire time I was worried the man would cop a feel, but he didn't. I just sat back and relaxed – his orders.

About two-thirds of the way there, we camped outside a small mill town by a river. The workers let us leave our tent set up there so that we had something to return to the following night. Stenvar gave the mill owner a few gold coins to make sure the tent was still there when we got back. As Stenvar put it, we'd either run into a bunch of outlaws in the cave and die, or kill them all and sleep in their beds, if it was too late to return to the mill. His reasoning was  _not_  very comforting.

As we rode southwest on the second day, Stenvar asked again the description of the area where the cave was. I explained as best I could.

"The entrance is at the top of a big hill. At the bottom of the hill, there is a river with fast water and rocks, and a dirt road and a rock shelter on the other side. A troll lived there."

"A troll  _hit_!  _Frab_!" The warrior clapped a hand against my thigh. "I haven't killed a troll in years."

"It breaked my side. A bone. Ehh… You know, the side bones." Damn it. I needed to learn those words.

"Broke," Stenvar corrected me. "And I believe the bone you mean is the  _rif_." He patted the side of my torso.

 _Rif_. Rib. Got it.

"Yeah,  _rif._  It stepped on me. Crushed me. That is when I was…." I held my breath for a moment. "Outlaws killed the troll, then outlaws grabbed me and one took me without my permission. That is when I discovered I could make lightning."

"You were  _valtekur_?  _Skit_ , Deb. Why didn't you tell me?"

 _Valtekur_. Raped.

_Now I know._

I guessed  _skit_  was something like "well, shit". Stenvar used these words a lot, I noticed.  _Feikan_ , damn.  _Rith_ , fuck. At least that's what I thought they meant.

I shrugged. "If that did not happen… I would never have learned I could make lightning, that I had magic in me – that I was a mage. I think I killed the two that held me. I don't know what happened to the man who…  _valtekur_  me."

" _Valtekt_ ," Stenvar said. "You were  _valtekur_ , and the  _valte valtekt_  you."

I sighed. "Complicated."

Stenvar let out a single, huffing laugh. After a few minutes of silence, he asked, "Is this why we're goin' to the cave?" His voice was softer, then. "For your  _hefin_?"

"What is  _hefin_?"

"The thing you will make once you kill all those fuckin' outlaws."

Revenge. Vengeance. "Yes.  _Hefin._ "

" _Fraaaab,_ " Stenvar laughed out the word. "Well, Deb, I only know of one cave in this area, but the entrance is at the bottom of a hill, near a pool of water."

I shook my head. "It is up a hill."

"Ten septims says the cave I'm thinkin' of is the same one you're leadin' me to. I've been there before. It's  _huge_. Probably carved into the entire base of the hill. Describe the inside of the cave you're thinkin' of."

"There was… one room for just a healer, with a bed. Several rooms had bedrolls for many people. Lots of places to store things. A dining area. And one main hall where the leader would talk to everyone."

"Sounds like a palace," Stenvar laughed.

My stomach flipped. No, no, it wasn't.

Stenvar then realized the rape wasn't the end of the story. "How long were you held by them?" he asked in a gentle voice.

"Maybe two months."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did the outlaws hold you?"

"I don't know." It was true. Sure, I'd stumbled upon their hideout. Thrynn said their leader and others wanted me dead, but he for whatever reason saved my life by claiming me as his woman. "I found their cave, and they didn't like that."

"Why didn't they kill you?" Stenvar asked.

"One of them said I was his woman."

"Ha! What a way to save your  _ras_. Is that the one who raped you?"

"No, no. He…. I don't know, I think he wanted to have me... but I wouldn't. He never took me by force."

"A polite outlaw. Ha!"

"When the group of outlaws killed men, farm folk. Thrynn, the one who protected me, he… he wouldn't kill the women and children. The leader didn't like that. He ordered Thrynn to be killed, too, and I didn't like that. His friend, a woman, Siv, she… fought for Thrynn, and Siv was my friend, too." I frowned at the memory of her being killed in front of my eyes. "I used my lightning to save them. One of the outlaws killed Siv as she tried to help me. Then the leader cut me.…" I ran a hand along my inner thigh. "He was going to rape me, or put his sword in me. Thrynn saved me. He escaped with me to a cabin. We lived there for months, and I learned this language there. Then he just… left. He gave me a map to get to Winterhold, but because he was not with me, I was attacked and taken and would have been killed, but the dragon came…."

"Dragon!?" His grip on my waist grew tighter. "Hold on…. You were at Helgen?"

"Yes. I was taken to Helgen by  _Lokolten_  after leaving the cabin. Thrynn could have saved me, maybe, if he did not just leave…. I don't know. But the dragon saved me. Saved us all. Storm-Cloaks, and Ulfric.

"Damn,  _elska_. The gods really want you alive."

I shrugged. I had no way of knowing if deities were an actual thing here. Though, since magic and dragons were, I thought perhaps they might be. Maybe everyone was right about me, that "the gods" wanted me here, and wanted me alive.

"Tell ya what," Stenvar continued, "we'll head to the cave entrance I know, and we'll see if that leads to the areas of the cave you're thinkin' about. Alright?"

"Sure." I wasn't really in a position to argue. I leaned back against Stenvar's cold, steel chest and enjoyed the ride.

* * *

 

"I'm glad I thought of bringin' a few torches," Stenvar said. "Looks like people haven't been in here for a while."

What was once a small camp in the cave was now abandoned, and braziers and small hearths were no longer lit, leaving the cave pitch black once we cleared the entrance. Stenvar looted the camp and picked up several unused torches. There was a table full of items including a long sword which Stenvar grabbed and hitched to the back of his armor.

"Grab those red bottles," he ordered. I put the bottles in my knapsack. There wasn't much else left in the camp. We continued into the cave, where more braziers stood unlit. Stenvar lowered his torch to one and with a  _fwoosh_  the brazier accepted the flame and lit our way.

"Careful where you step," he said quietly. I saw a sort of platform ahead of us and then made the awful mistake of looking to my right. The drop down would either kill you or send you plummeting into a pool of water. Both sides of the walkway were just as high up. I walked very, very carefully.

Still, there was no one in the cave. Stenvar jogged ahead and up the platform, lit another brazier, and looked around the area. "Nothin' good here, let's go."

We advanced further into the earth, and still found no one, not even any animals. Then we came to a large area that I recognized.

"This is it! This is the dining area!" I exclaimed in a loud whisper. We had found the cave, after all. "You were right, Stenvar."

"Told you so,  _elska_. You can pay me my ten septims later."

"I never agreed to a bet," I retorted. "I knew there was a chance you were right."

"Mhmm. Watch my back, I'm gonna get this chest open." I watched for oncoming outlaws as I heard the tinkering of small metal implements; he was picking the lock on the chest. I heard the lid open, and close not long after. "Damn, nothin' but a few coins. Come on, let's keep goin'."

"Stenvar, look." I pointed to a shelf full of rotten food. "Everything is old. No one has been here for a while. I think…." I looked at Stenvar. "I think the day Thrynn killed the leader, everyone died, or left for good."

"Hopefully you're right. Maybe there will still be a few more weapons to loot." Stenvar continued on his way, but I stood my ground. He realized I wasn't following him, and turned back around. "What?"

"I didn't tell you the whole truth, Stenvar."

"What truth? We're not here to kill outlaws?"

I shook my head. "We are here to… explore. I need to find a particular part of the cave, one where I don't think anyone ever went. I never went back there again, but…. I'm…." I stared at Stenvar who awaited an explanation. He had never guessed correctly who I was, where I was from, or why I didn't know his language well. "The reason why I found the hideout of the outlaws is because I fell into it from another world."

Stenvar stared at me for several seconds before bursting into laughter. "Oh, that's a good one, Deb _._ " I stared back at him with a straight face, and eventually he stopped laughing. "Wait, is that why you can barely speak the language? Because you're from another world!?"

I nodded.

" _Skit, elska._  Why didn't you fuckin' say so?"

"Because it is unbelievable, as you have shown by your laughing." I planted my fists on my hips.

"Of course it's  _unbelievable_ , Deb _._  Who would believe such a thing?" He walked closer to me. "But, it sure does explain why you're so strange."

"Thanks."

His smile was warm, that time. "Don't worry – the stranger, the better, I say." He put an arm around my shoulders and we continued onward into the cave. "Now, you say you  _fell_  into this cave?"

"Yes."

"From where?"

"Another cave," I replied.

"Which cave?"

"A cave in my world."

"Well how in  _Ommin_  did that happen?"

"I don't  _know_ , Stenvar," I said as I shrugged his arm off of my shoulders. "I took a wrong step and fell. I fell far, and when I opened my eyes, it was black. All black. I thought I died, but I did not. Whatever part of the cave I need to find, it will be completely dark."

"And why are we lookin' for this part of the cave?"

"Wuunferth thinks there may be a… ehh… what was the word…." I tried to remember. "I don't know what he said, but a door to my world. He is worried it is still open."

"A  _mirak_?"

"Yeah, that. He gave me bottles of something to drink to look for the…  _mirak_."

"And what happens when you find it? Will you be goin' back to your world?"

"I don't know, Stenvar. I think I should not go back. Wuunferth says I should not."

"That old mage might be right. You fell into this world, survived a group of outlaws, survived a dragon attack,  _and_  have magical powers. Somethin' tells me you should stay, at least for a little while."

"I… I don't know." And I really didn't know what I'd do. I didn't want to know what other supernatural surprises this world held for me, and I missed my dog, my family, and my friends, and coffee and toilet paper. However, something about my situation did nag at me, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I should stick around until that feeling went away.

"When did this happen? You, coming here," Stenvar asked.

"Not yet a year. Maybe seven months."

"Then I must apologize. You're learnin' the language of the land. I thought you were just a little slow."

I turned to Stenvar after he spoke. "I am  _not_  slow," I said in a voice too loud for someone hoping they wouldn't run into any outlaws.

"Yeah, yeah, I get that. Come on,  _elska_ , keep going. We'll find your  _mirak_."

We passed by the meeting area, the Doctor Lady's room, storage area after storage area, and sleeping areas. And then I saw it, the wooden door. I remembered that door. I had fallen through the doorway and landed prone in front of a bunch of barbarians. This was the door that opened up onto a new life. This will be the door that will lead to the pitch-black part of the cave where I crash-landed. I wondered if, now, it would lead me back to my old life.

"Stenvar?" I asked while staring at the door.

"Yeah?"

"What does 'elska' mean? You never explained it to me."

Stenvar walked up to my side and grasped my hand. I turned to him. The torch light made his rough features appear softer. He had grey eyes and wild eyebrows, and an impressive nose, likely appearing proportionally large due to his shaved head. His beard and indeed his entire complexion appeared less scraggly in the dim light. In this light, he looked twenty years younger. In this light, he almost passed as attractive.

"It is a word meant for kind girls and women, like yourself," he replied with a smile. "Not a bad thing."

Stenvar's mead-breath combined with him calling me something like "sweetheart" caused memories of Haymitch Abernathy from "The Hunger Games" to enter my mind.

If I wasn't so terrified by what might have been behind that door, I'd have been laughing.


	19. Mirakulous

After I opened the door, Stenvar advanced, torch in one hand and a sword in the other. There was absolutely nothing in this stone corridor but wet walls and the occasional clump of dripping limestone. Two turns later, I knew we were in the section where I had landed after falling into the cave in my own world. There was nothing there, so sign at all of the broken scaffolding or my glasses. The corridor just kept going on and on into blackness. I stopped walking at some point and sat down on the damp stone floor, disappointed and still somewhat terrified.

Stenvar sat down next to me, likely welcoming the little rest. Our backs lay against the damp, cold corridor wall. I took a sip of water from a canteen I had strapped to my belt and then, looking straight ahead at the opposite side of the corridor, asked, "Stenvar, why when I say I am from another world, you don't say I am crazy?"

"Why would I say you're crazy?"

"Because it is crazy, saying you are from another world."

"No it isn't," he replied. "There are many worlds.  _Mundus_  is just one of 'em."

"'Mundus'? World?" I was confused, since that was the Latin word for 'world'.

"Yeahhh….  _Mundus_  is the world.  _This_  world. There have been many worlds…." Stenvar took a sip from his own canteen, but his was full of mead. "I should really get you a book on this stuff. Or rather, you should find one at that College of yours, when you get there."

I took another sip of water and strapped the canteen back onto my belt. "What if I said I was from the future?" I looked to my right at the old sellsword. He shrugged.

"Different world, future…. Same thing, I suppose. Both explain why you're so strange." He smirked at his own remark.

I rolled my eyes. "In my world, saying you are from not  _that_  world makes people think you are crazy. Saying you are from the future, or… the before-time, also people think you are crazy."

" _Fortid_. The before-time is  _fortid_."

"Thank you."

"No problem."

" _Alumtid. Fortid."_ Future. Past. I looked around the corridor some more, then said, "I should take Wuunferth's potion, now."

"If you think this is the place." Stenvar stood and offered me his hand. I smiled my gratitude.

"I think it is. But it was completely black when I was here before. I didn't know the way kept going, and going…."

"How many potions did the old mage give you?"

"Three."

"So, take one now. If ya see the portal, great. If ya don't, we keep walking, try again."

"I suppose that will be fine."

"But, Deborah, tell me." Stenvar grasped my forearm and urged me to look at him. "What are ya plannin' to do if the portal is there? You said that you shouldn't go back. So, will ya? Go back, I mean. Decide now, to avoid regrets."

I stared into Stenvar's dark grey eyes, still unsure of my decision. "Do you believe in… things that are meant to be?"

" _Forlog?_  Of course. Wuunferth is probably right that you're here for a reason."

Then the answer finally came to me, sudden and clear, and completely obvious. "If there is no portal, then I am meant to stay here. If there is a portal, I am meant to go back."

Stenvar inhaled and exhaled a sigh through his impressive nose. "As good a plan as any. Anyone you want me to say goodbye to, if you leave? Wuunferth?"

Leave. Goodbyes. My own time. I hugged my body with my arms, clutching one of the tiny bottles of potion while I deliberated. "Wuunferth, of course. Tell him there is an open portal. He will want to know. He will probably want to close it." I wanted to add Ralof to the list of goodbyes, and his sister Gerdur, but I had already said goodbye to Gerdur, and Ralof… well, Ralof had his goodbye.

"That it?"

I nodded.

"Well, then, sweetheart, drink up. I'll be here to catch you if ya pass out, or somethin'." His smile was ridden with a confusing mix of emotions.

I smiled in return, and rolled the tiny bottle between my thumb and palm. My glance moved to the potion. " _Drink up, me hearties_ …," I muttered in English. I uncorked the bottle and swilled the meager contents. It tasted sweet, like pine and raspberries and sugar with a metallic aftertaste. I waited to pass out, throw up, see a portal, see anything different at all, but I saw nothing but Stenvar and the same cave as before.

"Anything?" Stenvar asked.

"No, nothing. Maybe we walk more?"

"Sure. You lead."

I turned, and we soldiered on into the earth. I realized I should have asked Wuunferth how long the potion took to work, but since he did not say, I figured it should have been instant. I saw absolutely nothing but torch-lit wet stone, the occasional mushroom, and some sort of moss.

"Maybe you should try takin' another potion?" Stenvar suggested.

"Maybe." I drank the second bottle. "Let us go a little further…." The corridor turned several times, but I never saw any signs of the broken scaffolding that sent me here. There were no habitations by humans or animals, and I felt like we were actually going further and further into the earth, as in, down. I started to feel uneasy, and even a little dizzy. The oxygen was getting thinner. I turned back to Stenvar. "We should return. There is nothing alive here, not even moss."

"Let's go a little further. I wanna see where this cave leads us." Stenvar passed me and headed further into the darkness.

"The air is thin, Stenvar. Look at the torch." The flames were very, very weak.

"Just a little further. If you feel like you're gonna pass out, tell me."

I didn't follow him. "Stenvar, that flame is going to die soon; we need to return."

The man sighed. "Fine. Take the last potion and look around as we go back."

I did as he suggested. When we arrived back at the area where I was sure I had fallen into the cave, I took the last potion, and realized there would be no portal.

"I suppose I am staying in this world," I said after a while.

"You don't sound very happy 'bout it."

"I still don't know. I miss things and people from my world."

"Anyone  _ein_?"

"'Ein'?"

"Ehh, you know, special to you."

"Just my family. And my dog."

"Heh. No husband?"

"I left him years ago."

"Ha. Bit of a  _bac_ , was he?"

I laughed. "If  _bac_  is nothing good, then yes, he was."

Stenvar's laugh echoed down the corridor. "I think if you were my woman and you'd gone missing, I'd've torn apart the whole of Tamriel lookin' for ya."

"Ehh… thanks?" I felt awkward at his words. The man was clearly old enough to be my father. I wasn't sure if his words were just genuinely kind, or loaded with intent.

"Your family must be goin' crazy now," he said, not allowing me to dwell on his previous statement.

"Yes, I suppose. I am sure I just… what is the word… to not be there, suddenly?"

" _Vodar_."

I repeated the word. "When that happens in my world, people think you were killed, and the body… hidden somewhere. People think the worst. I wish I could tell them I am fine."

Stenvar stopped walking, turned to me, set against the stone wall the broadsword he was holding, and grasped my hand. He had sadness in his eyes. "You should pray to Kyne, ask that she somehow let them know."

I stared back at the old sellsword. "Do you truly believe in gods, Stenvar?"

"Believe? Sweetheart…," he shook his head, grabbed his sword and continued walking back the way we came. "There's nothin' to believe. The gods just… are."

"How do you know?"

He laughed. "I just know."

"That is what many people in my world think, but there is no… no…. No one has seen gods, ever. To believe in something you have never seen is not wise."

"Where d'ya think the magic comes from, sweetheart?"

"The magic?"

"You're a mage. The magic doesn't come from you, it comes from the gods. It's a gift. Which gods, well, perhaps in your case, Mara favors you. Maybe Akatosh. You should leave  _ofen_ at their  _beluren_."

"Magic… Magic doesn't exist in my world, Stenvar." The man turned to me while we walked, and I looked into his grey eyes. "All of this… magic… it is completely new to me."

He sighed. "So you really do need to go to the College, then."

"Yes. I need to learn. About… everything. Everything about this world."

Stenvar smiled. "Well, then, come on, sweetheart." He walked faster. "I'll get ya back to Wuunferth. You'll give him the news, and then I'll take you to the College. On the way, I could teach ya a few things about our world."

"Like what?"

"Like how to use that sword, which you're still  _skit_  at; how to use that shield; what else your magic can do besides heal;" he smiled, "and I could even teach you a thing or two about our gods."

"How do you know what else I can do with healing magic?"

Stenvar chuckled under his breath. "Ohh, sweetheart, you're so damn  _ovita;_ it's  _qiib_. This is gonna be fun."

"What is going to be fun?"

Stenvar turned again to me and smiled. "Teachin' ya."

The rest of the way out of the cave was spent in relative silence. Stenvar rummaged through more bags and chests, stuffing various things in his knapsack and mine, collecting any and all weapons and armor that we could carry. He loaded all he could in his horse's saddlebags, and then we set off back to the small mill town. The sun was just barely starting to turn big and orange, so we definitely had time to get back before dark.

Back in his large tent, we munched on some dried meat, tough bread, and hard cheese for dinner. Stenvar had snagged some wine and mead bottles from the cave, and handed me a bottle of wine. I uncorked it and took a sip.

"Hey, this is different." I took another sip. "It is… it has…."  _Mulled wine!_ Damn, I loved mulled wine. This was not going to be good for my health.

"It's  _maakt_."

" _Maakt_. This…  _this…_  is my most favorite wine, in my world and, apparently, this world." I took another selfish swig.

Stenvar chuckled. "You can have it, then. I prefer mead."

"I  _know_  you prefer mead," I pointed the mouth of the wine bottle at him. "Do you ever drink water?"

"Of course I do. When there's no mead."

I laughed. I took several more sips of the delicious red stuff, and then sat quietly, thinking about the cave, my time spent there with Thrynn and Siv and Horned Helmet Guy, whose name I'd forgotten. I thought about the fact that there was no portal, and that I was, indeed, stuck here.  _At least,_ I thought,  _I've made actual friends, now. Including my 'brother-friend' Ralof_. "Puh," I spat, and drank more wine.

"What was that for?" Stenvar asked. I could already smell the mead on him from several feet away.

"Just… life. Life is… funny. This is… _not_ … where I essspected to be."

"You mean gettin' drunk in a tent with a sellsword old enough to be your father?" He winked at me.

"No…," I replied. "I mean, yes, but… I mean, here. Another world. A mage. I mean… you know… what the fucking fuck… you know?"

Stenvar's laugh was explosive. "Are you  _already_  drunk? Give me that." He yanked the wine bottle from me and examined it. "It's already half-empty. Damn, woman, slow down. That wine isn't cheap. Enjoy it."

"We did not _pay_  for it, Stenvvvar."  _Shit, he's right_. My words were slurring.

"Eat more meat, drink some more water. I don't want you to up-throw all over my tent."

"'Up-throw'?"  _Throw-up_. I laughed for no reason at all. But I did as Stenvar suggested, and munched on more dried meat that was way too salty for my taste. "We will sell all these swords and things?" I asked with a mouth half full.

"Yeah. I usually get a good deal with Oengul."

"Oennngulll gave me… no… traded me an axe for my sword. Ehh, no, I mean, a sword for my axe."

"Yeah, he's a good man. Always gives a fair trade."

"How much we get? For the things."

"Dunno, we'll see. Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll split it with ya. I wasn't the one that was held prisoner by outlaws in that cave,  _tros_. I may even give you the larger share."

"We never go to the troll place," I said, randomly.

"Oh, don't worry about that. There are plenty of trolls to kill around this land."

I laughed when I recalled the weird way Thrynn had acted around the skull of the troll that attacked me, the one that was killed just before I was raped. "The outlaws had a… thing… about trolls, I think."

"They what?"

"A troll attacked me, it was killed, then its head… cleaned. Thrynn gave me its skull. He… he gave… like it was a gift. Like… a thing to make me not hate him. Not hate the man who claimed me."

"I thought this Thrynn protected you?" Stenvar was reclining on his bedroll.

"Yeahhh, but, still, claimed me. Keeping me. Like, I knew… I knew if I run, I become rape or kill. If I stay with Thrynn, I be fine. I live."

Stenvar chuckled. "Your speech gets worse when you drink."

" _Shut up_ ," I muttered in English, and drank more wine. More wine to forget my time in the cave, forget trolls and barbarian rape, forget the fact that my family and friends and coffee and toilet paper were lost to me forever.

I returned to speaking drunken Norren. "I think… troll… troll skull maybe thing outlaws like. They like them. Like to killing them, suppose, and keep skulls to show others." I giggle-snorted when I remembered the night Thrynn cried in front of me when I had told him my name. "Stenvar," I began, "Thrynn cried when I said him my name. Why?"

"Cried? You made an outlaw cry? Now  _that's_  magical." He laughed.

"But why? Why he cry when hearing 'Deborah'? Is that a name of a god?" I looked up from my wine bottle, eyes wide with shock. "Did they think I am a god!?"

Stenvar considered the thought, sipped his mead, and considered some more. "Deborah does sound a lot like Dibella, a god, yeah. I suppose he heard ya wrong."

"Dibella! Yes! What Thrynn say! I thought he say my name bad, but he thought I was a god!" I laughed hard enough to send myself onto my bedroll. When I stopped laughing, I stood on my knees in the tent, which was tall enough to do so, and did the pose I remembered Thrynn doing, which was so awkward it was burned into my memory. "Dibella?" My hips were pushed out to the side, my arms raised, and fingers splayed above my head like a starburst or flower.

Stenvar chuckled and smiled. "Yeah, that's Dibella. That's how she is always showed in her  _nusen_."

"'Nusen'?"

"Stone or metal things shaped like the god."

 _Statue!_ I thought.  _That must be how Dibella is depicted in her statues!_  Oh, that was hilarious. I fell back onto my bedroll, a drunken, laughing mess.

"You know about Dibella, yes?" Stenvar's voice was calmer.

"No. A god. What god? Tell me."

"Dibella is the god of _brii, bahs,_ love, sex…."

"What is 'brii' and 'bahs'?"

" _Brii_  is what you have, and  _bahs_ , well, is many things. Music is  _bahs_ , at least to some people."

 _Music…. Art?_  "But what is 'brii'? What do I have?"

Stenvar smirked. " _Brii_ is… your hair glowing like a sunset in torch light."

"Fire?"

He laughed. "No, not fire, sweetheart.  _Brii_ is… pleasing to the eye. A  _briita_  person, or a  _briita_  chest full of gold. Depends on what you consider  _briita_." He laughed again.

 _Beauty! Beauty?_  "Wait…. Wait…." I closed my eyes. "Wait…."

"I'm waitin'."

Eyes still closed, I rubbed my forehead, and then looked across the tent at Stenvar. "You say I have beauty?"

"You are  _briita_ , yes. Surely you're aware of that fact, sweetheart."

I shook my head, slowly. "Why you say beauty? I have... you know… I am big." Fat. Chubbly. Fluffy.

At that remark, Stenvar sat up from his reclined position. "You're just how Dibella intended: round where it matters." He grinned.

I wasn't sure if it was the strong wine or the absurdity of Stenvar's remarks, but I burst out laughing and splashed wine onto myself, which only made me laugh harder.

"You're a gods-damned mess around wine, though," Stenvar muttered. "At least you're a  _qiib_  drunk."

Through my laughter, I asked, "What is  _qiib_?"

"You. You're  _qiib_. Like a little girl."

"I am  _not_  a little girl," I declared.

Stenvar chuckled. "I didn't mean it like that. Little kid, little dog…. You know,  _qiib_."

 _Now I'm cute!?_  I thought, still laughing.

"Stop laughing at me," Stenvar grumbled.

"I not laughing at you,"I said when I had enough breath to speak. "I laughing at me. CUTE! BEAUTIFUL!" I giggle-snorted again, took another sip of wine, and then recorked the near-empty bottle.

I was not at all prepared to defend myself against an advancing Stenvar, who before I knew what was happening had all but leapt across the tent and landed on top of me. I stared, stunned, into his serious grey eyes. The tent was lit only by a small lantern, which of course aided him in appearing attractive. Hell, dim light even made  _me_  attractive; this I knew. Alcohol and dim lighting: a sure-fire way to appear attractive to someone.

I expected Stenvar to lecture me on manners or something else, such as accepting compliments. Instead, he said, "You know, to Dibella, sex is a  _bahs_."

His forceful kiss was completely unexpected.


	20. Stenvar

His lips were rough, almost as rough as his weather-beaten skin. His scraggly, greying light-brown beard tickled my chin. His large nose pressed against my cheek and sent warmed breath onto my face.

Everything in my mind was telling me to push Stenvar away, to end the kiss, and make it clear that I wasn’t interested. My lips, however, had a mind of their own, and were returning his impassioned kiss with equal fervor. My arms had traveled to settle around his shoulders, and my hands said “to hell with what you think, brain” and grasped the back of Stenvar’s shaved head, holding his mouth to mine.

Even over my leather armor, his steel-clad body pressing against mine made me yearn for more of his touch. His hands were on me, desperately trying to feel the contours of my hips and breasts, and likely failing miserably since the armor did its job well.

In my mind, I registered his mead-breath and his musky man-scent. _He’s dirty. He smells. He’s edging in on fifty-five or even sixty. He’s almost twice your age. His balls are likely grey-haired and sagging._ My brain was determined to get me to stop this nonsense. _You like Ralof. You_ love _Ralof. You desire RALOF._

Suddenly I felt a jolt of pleasure through my body. Stenvar had finally managed to press a hand hard enough against the crotch of my leather trousers for me to feel it. The pleasure hijacked my thoughts, and I knew I was lost to Stenvar’s embrace. _Where was Ralof, anyway? Fawning over his Eyleif. Forget Ralof. Just forget him._

And then in a flash of reality, I realized how badly I must have smelled under my leather armor; how badly _Stenvar_ must have smelled under his own armor. I pushed Stenvar away from me, not violently, but enough to lift his lips off of mine. I caught my breath, grasped his face between my hands, and looked him in his serious grey eyes.

“I need a bath,” I said plainly, stating the probable truth.

I slid from underneath Stenvar’s imposing body and out of the tent. We had not bothered to close the tent flap completely, since the warmth from the campfire a few meters away was giving off at least a little heat and light.

Standing by our belongings, I began to unfasten my leather armor, breathing a sigh of relief when the chest piece fell to the grassy ground. The armor somewhat pressed against my breasts, and taking off the armor was as satisfying as taking off a bra at the end of a long day. I slid out of my boots and trousers, and it wasn’t until I almost removed my linen underarmor that I realized Stenvar was still in the tent. I turned, pushed aside the half-open flap, and stared at a defeated-looking Stenvar.

“Are you coming?” I asked with a surprised look and a smile, not waiting for a response before leaving and grabbing several bottles of mead from a bag. I looked around the area for a gentle part of the river, finally finding a large, flat boulder just waiting to be used as a table for our clothes and mead. The campfire provided just enough light to see what I was doing.

I turned when I heard a soft thud behind me. Stenvar had taken off his steel chest armor and was then working on the rest of it. Neck-to-toe, he had six huge pieces of steel attached to his body. I wondered what kind of stamina it took to just walk around in that, let alone fight in it. Under the steel, Stenvar wore very thin hide clothing. I turned away before he removed those articles.

I set down the mead bottles on the flat boulder, and then removed my linen shirt and stankified bra. I wondered if it was time to get rid of the old thing; perhaps not until I bought a proper chest wrap that women here wore.

I didn’t hear Stenvar approach behind me, and jumped when I felt his hands on my hips. His lips found a shoulder and gave it a light nip, eliciting a grunt in response. He then pulled back, hands traveling from my hips to my arms, and held his place there.

“You are _maalut_ ,” he said in a deep, husky voice.

“I am what?” _What did that mean? Fat? Dirty? Smelly?_

“This,” he said, making me jump slightly again as his fingers lightly traced the tattoos on my back.

“Oh, yes….” I held in gasps of pleasure as his fingers unknowingly touched an unusually sensitive back. I never knew why, but light touches anywhere on my back and the nape of my neck caused me to jump in surprise, or melt from pleasure, or both.

“What does it mean?” he said before bending down behind me, tracing the designs with his tongue and fingers in turn.

“Mean? Ehh, there are four….” _Don’t moan, don’t moan…._

“So, this one?” he stood again, and kissed the lower nape of my neck. I realized then that he had never seen it before, as it was always obscured by the clothes I’d worn around him, and my previously long ponytail.

He was kissing the small S-shaped double spiral. Ancient Crete, Palace at Knossos. “It’s… from very old people… _mmm_ …. Maybe is a snake.” Stenvar slowly ran his tongue across the inked flesh. “Copied from… old… bowl.”

“Old… _tholet_?”

“ _Tholet_ ,” I repeated. “Old thing. From dead people.”

“Yes,” Stenvar said. His fingers traced the loosely interwoven snakes running up my spine with simple flower designs between their bodies. Ancient Turkey, Çatalhöyük. “This?”

“ _Mmm_ , nothing. Don’t know. Maybe health. Pretty. Also old. I like that animal.”

“You like _gargen_?”

“ _Gargen_ ….” I proceeded to hiss like a snake.

Stenvar chuckled. “ _Gargen_.” He kissed the small of my back. “This?”

I felt like I would orgasm just from his inquiry process. He had kissed the unknown symbol, a rectangle with four vertical lines leading out beneath it, like legs. Prehistoric France, Cave of Lascaux. “No one knows. Maybe horse.”

I felt Stenvar stand, and his rough palms moved around my back in a large circle. He traced my biggest tattoo, my ouroboros. Ancient Egypt and Greece. The tattoo was as wide as my back, and as tall as the other tattoos above and below, and the interwoven snakes lay centrally inside the circle. “This….” His mouth began to suck at the flesh between my neck and shoulder, but his hands remained on my back.

“Circles. Death. Life. New beginning. Again, and again, and again…. _Nnggg….”_ The man sucked harder on my flesh. His hands shifted to my front, and each of his hands found a breast. He didn’t squeeze, or pinch, or even knead. He just held them. I then first felt the obvious sign of his own arousal.

“Stenvar?” I asked.

“Mmm?”

“Did you say… sex was… art? Does that mean you… make art… a lot?”

His mouth left my likely bruising flesh to chuckle. His hands left my breasts and urged me to turn to face him. He looked somehow taller now, the proportions of his body no longer skewed by his massive armor. It was then that I laid eyes on the massive, blue-ink tattoo that splayed across his chest, torso, and trailed all the way down to his—

“Oh, oh my….” My eyes went wide and I covered my mouth in both surprise and empathic pain.

Stenvar’s chuckle made his erect penis bounce; the erect penis which had a schematic arrow tattooed on the foreskin.

“I’ve never… ehh…. Did that not _hurt_!?” I blurted, lifting my gaze to Stenvar’s amused eyes.

The man laughed heartily. “Of course it did. All the mead in Skyrim couldn’t numb that pain.”

“But… why….” I couldn’t keep my eyes away from the tattoo – any part of it.

“It was supposed to be a cure.”

“A _cure_!?” _Crap. Please don’t tell me you have herpes or something. Please, please._

“Yeah, for _ofurjos_.”

“For what?”

“I can’t make children.”

 _Oh, thank goodness_. “Oh. Oh…. Well, you mean, it did not work?”

Stenvar shook his head. He took my hands in his and led my palms around his chest and torso, flowing with the inked pattern, brushing against his thick, greying, light-brown chest hair. “My first wife never gave me a child. When my second wife, who had a child from a previous marriage, failed to give me a child, I knew the problem was me. I prayed to Mara for a cure, got this _maal_ , but nothing came of it. My second wife left me, too. I suppose an otherwise good marriage wasn’t enough for either of them.”

I frowned at Stenvar’s story. Really, that was quite awful – leaving someone you should be in love with just because they’re infertile. My eyes shifted from his own down to his chest. Surrounded by stylized vines and leaves was a huge blooming flower with six long petals in the center of his chest. “What is the flower?” I asked, touching the blue-inked flesh that was barely hidden beneath his chest hair.

“It’s the flower of Dibella,” he said. His voice had grown deep and husky again.

“Dibella…. The Sex God?” I smirked and looked Stenvar in the eyes again.

“Indeed,” he said, nearly growling the word. Stenvar took one step toward me and with his strong, rough hands he pulled my hips toward his and kissed my lips with the same vigor he had earlier. I felt his erection press against my abdomen. His hot, wet tongue found my own and caressed the muscle. The man was a great kisser; I had to give him that, at least. Kisses didn’t really get better than this.

I knew I was sobering up. I no longer felt the “wine tingles” I always got. They made certain places of my body feel warm and tingly, and made me desire unusual things for me, like anal sex, and threesomes. I had brought to the riverbank three bottles of mead thinking I’d need mental lubricant, but I was wrong. In a matter of minutes, Stenvar had grown on me in more ways than one. I actually desired the old sellsword. I wondered if it was his tattoos, or the way he had caressed my body while studying mine, or both. I had no idea he had tattoos, nor did he know I was inked as well. Perhaps he was just as pleasantly surprised as I was at that moment.

Stenvar lowered a hand and grasped my linen briefs – the final stitch of clothing separating our bodies. I thought he might rip them off of me, or lower me onto the grass to slide them off and then just flat out fuck me then and there, but I was wrong yet again. Stenvar kissed various parts of my body as he lowered himself to his knees in front of me. Each of his hands then grasped a side of the linen underpants and slid them down in slow, graceful movements. I stepped out of the leg openings and Stenvar tossed the garment onto the boulder with my other clothes. The man’s lips found my now very natural and unlandscaped mound, and without any further warning his tongue slid into the cleft between my legs, nearly sending me to my knees. His hands caught me, however, and seemingly without effort held my body upright. With his hands pressing firmly on my buttocks and arms holding my thighs in place, I couldn’t escape his grasp, and was forced to allow myself to relax into the man.

His tongue licked gently, merely teasing rather than intending to lead me to orgasm as quickly as possible. Through my faint moans, I whispered, “I should wash first.”

“Mm-mm,” Stenvar grunted, moving his head from side to side while his tongue continued to tease. An exquisite eternity later, his thumbs reached around far enough to spread open my folds, giving his tongue more direct access to my very specific and very swollen center of pleasure. The man flicked his tongue against the node. He then alternated between sucking, licking, and flicking, pressing my body to his face, not allowing me to fall or move away from the intensifying pleasure.

My moaning became uncontrollable. I knew I was unintentionally signaling my impending climax, and Stenvar understood. His tongue focused completely on my clitoris, moving in circles and flitting up and down. His tongue became stiffer, stronger. My hands grasped his head and held it to me. My moans became small shrieks, and I felt for sure I would fall flat on my back at any moment. My body began to shudder as the orgasm swept through me, and Stenvar’s tongue continued. I lost any semblance of footing that I had and fell completely into Stenvar. His mouth and arms and hands held me in place as he extended my orgasm as much as possible. As Stenvar’s mouth continued to pleasure me, several fingers worked on my other entrance. The moan that escaped me once he had two fingers inside must have been audible to the nearby millworkers, but I didn’t care.

I had finally had enough of the pleasure; the sensation was simply too intense. I stepped away from Stenvar, and walked toward the river. I placed a foot in first, testing the water, which was only somewhat cool. I lowered the rest of my body into the water, turned toward Stenvar, and gave my best “the water’s fine” suggestive smile. I knew I was being somewhat selfish, but I really didn’t like fucking someone who needed a bath.

Stenvar sank into the water with gasp, not caring to first warn his body of the temperature change. He plunged his entire body under the water for a few seconds, then stood and shook the water off of his face. I had done the same moments before. I turned to the now mostly-clean Stenvar. His face, now clear of dirt and grime, was surprisingly much more attractive.

It was me that time that instigated the kiss. I wrapped my arms around the man and pulled him tightly to me. His hands found my backside again and slid a finger inside, using the remaining fingers to tease. I moaned into the man’s mouth.

I wanted him. I really, really wanted him.

I broke away from him and muttered two words: “The rock.”

Stenvar understood, and led me by hand to the dry, cold stone. He shoved the mead bottles to the ground, examined the boulder, and scratched his chin. He then walked toward the tent with my clothes in hand, and returned with a fur blanket which he laid on the boulder. I sat back on the fur, and gazed up at the man who still retained an impressive erection, despite the chilly river water. He didn’t boast the biggest erection I’d ever seen – that status still belonged to Thrynn – but he was certainly big enough, somewhat larger than average in size. 

I reached out my hand to Stenvar, inviting him to approach. When he did, he leaned in to take a nipple in his mouth, and then the other, switching every few seconds. His hand once again found the cleft between my legs and two, then three large fingers stretched my aching entrance. My fingernails dug into his back. I ached for him. I knew I ached for any man, really, to fill the emotional and physical void created by not bedding Ralof, but I wanted Stenvar. I needed him on top of me, filling me, and soon.

His mouth left my breasts and found my lips again. He lightly bit my lower lip, and then sucked it to make it all better. _Goddamn, his lips_. They were rough, but big, and obviously built for kissing. His fingers inside of me angled upwards, pressing against the sensitive roof of my entrance, nearly causing me to orgasm yet again.

“Fuck me,” I muttered, remembering the moment that Thrynn had taught me the phrase, and knowing now full well what the words meant.

Stenvar stood somewhat, leaning with his knees on the boulder in front of me. The rock was not the right height for him to stand on the ground, but he could lean, and support himself using my body. He grasped one of my feet and raised it to his shoulder, and then the other. His erection pressed against my mound, rubbing as he moved. He kissed one ankle, and then the other, and then reached down to grasp his completely aroused shaft. He backed away slightly, found my entrance, and pushed himself inside of me.

Both of us gasped at the sensation. We were both waiting for this moment, finding obvious relief when it finally arrived. Using my legs as a support, Stenvar thrust in and out of me, slow and deliberate, not allowing either of us to find release any time soon.

I lost myself completely in that moment. There was no pain, like there had been with Thrynn. I felt nothing but pleasure with Stenvar pushing into me; he was just the right size for me. His tawny skin glowed orange in the campfire light, and combined with his washed face made him appear much younger. His thrusts slowed occasionally, thrusting deeper, causing a more guttural moan to escape my lungs.

He leaned further forward, still bracing his body against my legs and pushing into me with his strong and seasoned body. I reached up and grasped my ankles. Stenvar’s hands were planted on the boulder on either side of my head. His thrusts quickened, but stayed deep within me. I heard what I considered the familiar “almost” grunting, and I was right. My own moans were increasing in pitch as my second orgasm approached. I remembered Stenvar couldn’t have children and realized I didn’t have to ask him to pull out.

I let him go.

“Fuck me,” I squealed. Stenvar’s thrusting intensified to be almost too rough. I felt my backside lift off of the boulder as the man stood, pulling me with him. His hands held my hips in a death-grip as he pounded into me, leaving my upper back and arms the only parts of me supported by the boulder.

I was screaming. Stenvar was growling. Our orgasms arrived simultaneously, or he let himself go as I came. I saw white behind my closed eyes as my blood pressure either rose or plummeted or who knows what. The thrusting continued in a frantic pace and intensity for another minute until the man collapsed on top of me. My butt hit the fur blanket on the boulder and Stenvar’s hands caught his fall. His knees propped up his body above mine. I felt his muscles quiver, and I urged him to stand. I let myself collapse to the grassy ground, and Stenvar followed. We remained in a huffing heap on the grass for quite a while.

My hand felt something cold and hard, and I realized it was one of the mead bottles. I brought it to my other hand, uncorked the bottle, and drank my immense thirst away. I passed the bottle to Stenvar, who did the same. We passed the bottle back and forth until it was empty. Stenvar then tossed the bottle away and reached for my hand. His breath had slowed before mine did.

“Use your healin’ magic,” he said.

“What? Why?”

“Why do you think, sweetheart?” He let out a single laugh, placed one of my hands on my own crotch, and the other on his genitals. “Heal.”

I did as he said. The warm, yellow light emerged from my hands, and I felt further heat in my already steaming core. “Really, Stenvar, why? I am in no pain.” I turned to my side to gaze down at the man who had just fucked me near-senseless. He reached for my hand again, and then pressed my fingers around his erection. _Erection!_ “Wait…. How!?....”

Stenvar laughed. “I told you. Not just for healin’.” He pushed his body up and kissed my neck, causing me to moan and collapse onto him.


	21. Rain, Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous smut warning. BUT also lots of stuff revealed (some of which Deb will not realize the gravity of….). And Deb learns a couple more dirty words. Heh.
> 
> Not sure how much more sexytimes there will be until a little bit in the future. Content, content, content... Not that smut isn't content, but... ;)
> 
> Also, thank you for your comments! I really, really hope it doesn't get boring once she learns the language... It shouldn't, considering she still gets thrown into culture-shock situations, occasionally, one of which will happen next chapter... *grin*
> 
> If at any time you have any questions, feel free to PM or comment.

 

I awoke to the sound of heavy rain thumping on the waxed leather tent . A flash lit the hide, and soon after thunder vibrated the ground. I could smell that rain smell; besides coffee and orange blossoms, it was one of my favorite smells.

I laughed when the events of the night before came to mind. I turned to my other side, not expecting to see an empty bedroll. Stenvar had moved his directly adjacent to mine to before we passed out. I was surprised that I remembered that; I was surprised that I completely lacked a hangover.

"Stenvar?" I called out. A flash and thunder were my only answer. I had a sudden jolt of panic, not for the absence of Stenvar, whose sword I saw tucked away at the edge of the tent, but rather for our belongings that we had left outside. All of our armor, food, weapons and gold we had taken from the outlaw hideout; I hadn't even retrieved my bra before we crawled back into the tent when exhaustion finally hit us.

I looked behind me and was relieved to see what looked like everything we carried with us in a pile behind me. I crawled over to the pile and found my underwear folded neatly over my linen underarmor, and underneath those, my leather armor. The lantern had been lit, and I saw a bowl of what looked like soup sitting next to a plate of cheese, both placed directly behind my bedroll. I slid on my linen briefs and my bra, then covered most of my body with the one big heavy fabric blanket Stenvar had.

The soup was cold, but I didn't mind. I sipped it hungrily and wondered where Stenvar had gone. He'd obviously left clothed, judging by the absence of his hide underarmor in the pile behind me. But from the sound of the heavy rain above, he would have been drenched in the process. The tent protected me from the rain on all sides, including the bottom. I was lucky. I did worry, however, about the fact that metal was used to pitch the structure, but if Stenvar didn't insist we move, I figured we were safe from being toasted by lightning.

I bit off some cheese as my stomach growled for more food. Between swallows I heard splashing footsteps approach. A dripping Stenvar entered, smiling. He was indeed soaked through.

"Where did you go?" I asked with a mouth full of cheese.

"Put the horse under the overhang coverin' the chopped wood," he said before relieving himself of his wet underarmor.

"Oh, good," I felt ashamed that I forgot about the horse's comfort and safety. "And the soup and cheese?"

"From the worker's lodge. Traded some apples and gold for it." He sat down, naked, on his bedroll which was still tucked closely to mine. He watched me eat.

I looked up at him from my bowl of soup, and paused. "Oh, I'm sorry, is this for sharing?"

He smiled. "No. Enjoy." He continued to watch me.

I swallowed the rest of the soup and returned his gaze. "What do you look at?"

"I am  _looking_ ," he stressed the word, still improving my speech, "at you."

I placed the empty bowl behind me next to the half-eaten chunk of cheese. His gaze made me uncomfortable and I tucked the blanket securely around me. "Why?" I asked, looking away.

Stenvar huffed a single laugh. He reached over and untucked the blanket from my right side, allowing himself to scoot close to me. "Because I'm  _cold,_ and you've stolen the blanket."

I smiled sheepishly, despite assuming he was lying. He lay with his arms behind his head, still looking up at me. I sighed and reclined next to him, propped up by an elbow. "Thank you for breakfast."

He gave a light grunt in response.

"Why…," I looked away from him. "Why don't I have a… ache of the head…? You know, from the drink?"

Stenvar chuckled. "You healed it away."

"I did?"

"Mhmm," he nodded. "Somethin' they probably won't teach ya at that College."

I laughed. "Also not the things you taught me last night, I suppose?"

Stenvar grinned and turned his head to look straight up. "I assume not."

I peered down at my magic-less fingers which had glowed yellow and also sparkled the night before. "I remember it all. The drink did not erase the night."

"Nope."

"I never would know lightning-magic could also… do…  _that_ ," I blushed and then grinned while chuckling. "Is this why you like mages?"

Stenvar nodded. His eyes were closed, and he was smiling.

I suddenly felt really, really… awkward. "Did you… use me?"

Stenvar turned his head to look at me. "I don't  _use_  women, Deborah." He lowered his arms and matched my height by propping himself on an elbow as well. "I meant everything I said last night."

My eyes left his gaze and focused on the designs on his chest. I wasn't at all sure how to respond to that. "You have been with many mages?"

"A few, over the years, among many different kinds of women."

"Many?" I stared at the fist-sized flower on his chest.

"I'm an old man, Deb. I've been around."

I couldn't help but laugh at that remark. Still, the worry of sexually-transmitted diseases ate away at my mind. "Are there not risks to so much sex?"

"Risks?" Stenvar returned to lying on his back. "Just unwanted children n' regrets. And I can't make children." He gripped my chin between his finger and thumb, urging me to look at him. "Do you have regrets?"

I couldn't stop myself from smiling. "No," I answered honestly. "I… I needed…." I bit my lip. "I needed it."

His fingers left my chin. " _Hmph_. You n' me both, sweetheart." He opened his arms to me, inviting me to snuggle up to him. I did.

For an older man, I was surprised at how good a shape Stenvar's body was in. Aside from a bit of a mead-belly, he was incredibly muscular. My head rested on his shoulder, which thankfully was not at all boney. I hated boney shoulders – so disappointing.

We stared up at the roof of the tent, listening to the rain. After a while, the fingers of his left hand intertwined with those of my right.

"We will not travel today, no?" I assumed.

"Nope."

Lightning flashed and thunder vibrated the ground again.

"I enjoy storms," I said softly.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I always enjoy the rain. Enjoy the smell. Makes me want to lie in bed all day and listen, watch the flashes."

"Good, 'cause that's exactly what we'll be doin' today."

I giggled. A random question entered my mind. "Did you pass out when you… got the tattoo? The, ehh, smaller one…."

Stenvar's chest vibrated when he laughed. "No, but I wish I had."

"It pains me to think about it, and I don't even have one, a… man… thing. Ehh, what is your word for it?"

Stenvar laughed again. "Depends. The correct word is  _typ_ , but the more… well, another word, is  _pyk_."

"Another word…. You mean, a word your mother would not use?"

Stenvar's body nearly convulsed in laughter. "Exactly."

"And, maybe, a healer would use the first one?  _Typ_?"

"A healer? Sure, or the woman that stuck needles in it to make the tattoo." I felt his body tighten with the onset of his memory. "Did your tattoos hurt?" he asked.

"No. More, ehh…. I don't know the word. This." I proceeded to tickle Stenvar's side with my fingertips.

He laughed. " _Kitel_. And stop that."

"Stop what?" I grinned, continuing my feather touches on his painted skin, hand drifting just below the rim of the blanket before his strong hand grabbed my wrist.

Stenvar pushed my right arm away from him and preemptively gripped my other wrist before rolling on top of me. He spoke with his face just above mine. "Don't start somethin' you don't intend to finish."

"I cannot finish if you are holding me," I said, failing to retain my best poker face which slowly gave way to a blushing grin.

My response seemed to only encourage Stenvar, who moved my arms above my head. His lips lowered to graze the flesh just above my right breast. "Restrained, you can't  _kitel_. And…," his tongue traced the outline of my bra, and his teeth found my turgid nipple, eliciting a gasp from my lungs. Apparently that was the "and". He used one big, strong hand to hold both of my wrists, and then pulled the blanket away from the rest of my body.

I felt horribly self-conscious, suddenly. I was completely natural – unshaved, unbathed since last night, and unscented with any perfumes. Stenvar never missed a beat, however. From Gerdur's response to my question about shaving, I assumed she spoke the truth, and that the men of Sky-Rim didn't expect women to be hairless. The man above me was concentrated fully on my linen briefs that covered my lower half, not giving my underarms a second glance. I let myself relax, and concentrated instead on accepting Stenvar's attention.

He still looked old to me; I couldn't get past my ageist attitude. His face was still clean from our brief dip in the river, however, which improved his appearance. He also didn't smell much of mead anymore.

As his lips caressed my belly, I ran a hand over his shaved head, which began to feel stubbly. "Why do you shave?" I asked. "Do you not get cold?"

Eyes still on my midsection, fingers tugging my linens lower, he answered. "It's grey, always has been."

"The hair? Always?" I lifted my butt off the bedroll to aid in his disrobing me.

"Yeah, since I was born." His mouth sucked at the flesh of my left calf as he slid the briefs down and over my feet.

"Strange."

"It's a family thing. We all have grey hair, our entire lives." He nipped at the flesh of my ankle.

"But why do you shave it?"

"I look old enough without a grey head of hair."

"How old are you?"  _Please don't say sixty_ , I thought to myself. I could take twenty years my senior, but not thirty; that would just be weird.

"Fifty-two." He gazed down at me. "And you?"

"Twenty-nine. I had a day of birth not long ago, I think. In the spring. And I have many grey hairs. I do not care about that."

"You do? I don't see any." He bent forward and examined my pubic hair.

I giggled, and held my slight paunch to stop its jiggling. "Not there, Stenvar."

"Oh, well, then…." He lowered himself to my mound swiftly, sending me flat on my back with the sudden pleasure of his tongue licking the sensitive flesh.

I let the expert work his magic. He knew exactly how to respond to my body, and my moans and cries.. When I stopped responding to his light teasing, he increased the intensity of his licking and sucking, and eventually used his teeth to help expose the now-swollen nub. In what must have been mere minutes I was shuddering uncontrollably against the man. When I calmed, he lapped up my wetness. I understood, finally, that Stenvar was one of those rare men that really,  _really_  enjoyed pleasuring women orally.

When he finished below my waist, he left a trail of nips and kisses up the length of my body, ending with my mouth. I felt a sudden pang of guilt for not yet returning the same pleasure Stenvar had given me several times already. The ageist within me nearly cringed at the thought while kissing him, but at the same time, I enjoyed pleasing a man in that way. And, unlike Thrynn, whose size made my jaw hurt, Stenvar's girth would not likely cause such discomfort.

I pushed myself from my bedroll and flipped our bodies, landing Stenvar on his back on his own bedroll. The way I landed caused his erection to be pressed between his midsection and my mound. He could have easily slid inside me at that point, but I backed away, urging him to stay on his back. I braced myself for getting a close-up view of his genitals, but was pleasantly surprised. Despite his age, his bits were even more visually appealing than my much younger ex-husband's. I hadn't gotten a good view last night, and now, in the dimmed daylight, my fears of old-man-balls abated. I also realized that Stenvar trimmed himself below, as well as shaving his head.

"You… shave?" I asked.

"Shave? No, I'm not puttin' a knife to my  _neten_. I just cut a little off with  _skers_. Makes it look bigger, no?" He winked.

I laughed, and explored the area with my fingers. "I should, too."

" _Neh._ " Neh. I was pretty sure that was the word for naw, or nah. He continued. "No reason for a woman to."

"In my world, most men want their woman shaved; everything except the head."

"Truly? Strange." Stenvar settled back, using his hands to prop his head up a little to watch me. I could tell he didn't want to talk about body hair anymore.

I watched the blue arrow move up and down as I began to stroke the erect shaft.

"Take off your binding," Stenvar requested. I obliged, and let my ample breasts join in on the fun. The bra needed a serious washing, anyway. I leaned forward, pulled back the foreskin, and let my tongue explore the swollen, purple-pink glans. I licked, gently, areas known to be sensitive, and was rewarded by a twitch of the organ and a light grunt of the man. I used my other hand to fondle his uniform sack.

I was determined to tease Stenvar for as long as possible, but I was also curious to see how much of him I could take into my mouth. I continued to lick and to move the foreskin up and down along the shaft, enjoying watching the organ twitch occasionally and feeling Stenvar's thigh muscles ripple. I looked up his body at his face, which remained relaxed and transfixed, watching my actions. I wondered if Stenvar noticed how much I enjoyed pleasuring a man in this way – though, perhaps not as much as he enjoyed pleasuring women similarly. Whenever I performed oral sex on a man, I became highly aroused. I fought the temptation not to finish in the same manner I started, to climb on top of the man instead.

Distracting myself, I took Stenvar into my mouth for the first time. A soft  _mmm_  sound from the man rewarded me. While in my mouth, I used my tongue to tease the sensitive underside of the head. With a hand, I moved the foreskin slowly up and down. I felt a hand on my head, and knew the man was enjoying the teasing. I considered that Stenvar was into light nips and bites during sex, and the fact that he had a tattooed dick. Testing him, I gently grazed his foreskin with a canine tooth. Stenvar gasped, and I continued to graze the organ, very slowly, over the glans. The man shuddered a bit, obviously enjoying the nearly too-intense play.

"Fuck," he muttered. I grinned at my success.

I continued to suck and lick at the head, but wanted to test something else. I took a deep breath through my nose and then, slowly, lowered my mouth as far as I could take him in, stopping just short of his trimmed hair. The tip of his head hit the back of my throat, and I stilled for a moment, but had to lift myself soon to get air. Stenvar's fingers knotted with my hair in a silent signal for more of the same. I obliged several more times until I could sense he was nearing climax.

I wasn't particularly fond of swallowing semen, no matter who the man was. I sat up, and using two hands, began to work the head and shaft at the same time. I was curious to know how he would react to a move I'd come up with years ago that compensated for my lack of desire to swallow. Making sure my one palm was overly moist, I began to rub it against the head, still using the other hand to stroke the shaft. Stenvar's neck flew back and eyes closed; he grunted at the sensation. I continued the motions for a little while longer until I decided he deserved a grand finale. I increased the speed of my strokes, and with my right hand no longer rubbed the head but rather let the glans hit the moist palm, as if it were thrust into a bodily orifice. Stenvar gripped the bedroll and thrust his hips up to meet my hands. His grunting increased in pitch until he was practically whining.

His climax hit more intensely than they had the night before, any of the three times. "Sweet… Dibella's…  _tutten_ …. FUCK." His shouting was followed by loud, growling moans.

I giggled, not knowing what 'tutten' were, but assuming it wasn't something polite. I continued the motions, slower then, and less harsh, until the man stilled. I leaned backwards, pushed open the unfastened tent flap, and let the rain wash my hand of the sticky mess.

"Fuckin' shit, woman," Stenvar grunted. "What in  _Ommin_  was that!?" He propped himself up to look at me.

I shrugged. "I don't like to swallow, so…."

The man laughed, collapsing back onto the bedroll, still catching his breath.

I snuggled up next to him, caressing his decorated torso, tracing the painted vines and enjoying watching him recover. "What is 'ommin'?" I asked. "I have heard it so much."

"It's…," he started, still breathing heavily, "a place you never wanna go to. Bad place. Daedra live here."

"Daedra?" I recalled what Gerdur had told me about god-like Daedras. I thought perhaps the saying was similar to the way people in my world used the word "hell". "So, I would say, 'What in  _ommin_  are you doing?' or 'I hope you go to  _ommin_ '?"

Stenvar laughed. "Yes."

"What does the word mean, though? I want to understand."

He sighed. " _Nnff,_ I dunno, Deb. It's… another world." He grasped my hand and squeezed it tight.

"Are there any words you can say to explain it?"

He whined a little, and sighed again. "Never-ending."

"Never ending?" I thought a moment. Time? Infinity? Oblivion? "Alright, thank you. And what about 'tutten'?" I smiled, knowing it was something a bit naughty if he said it while having an orgasm.

Stenvar just grabbed one of my breasts. "This. This…." He groaned, and turned onto his stomach.

 _Tutten_. Tits. Got it.

After I gave Stenvar an arguably excellent hand-job, we didn't have any further intimate contact. Neither of us particularly needed any, though I had been somewhat aroused by my own handiwork. Stenvar just wanted to sleep after that, however. While he slept, I walked out into the rain, letting it wash my body. Stenvar had set out both of our canteens to catch the rain water, and I took a few swigs. The late summer rain felt glorious. I was amazed at the climatic difference between here and Windhelm, despite the two areas being only two days' distance apart. I wanted to bathe in the river, but the water had become somewhat torrential with the downpour, and I decided against it.

I then realized how close the mill-worker's houses were, but was comforted by seeing how well thick evergreen trees blocked the majority of the view to our little camp. I crawled back into the tent, still wet, and dried myself with the blanket, grinning at how puckered my nipples were and how Stenvar would have appreciated the show. I dressed in my underwear and underarmor and then relaxed, listening to the rain, and later retrieved my journal from my knapsack.

On separate pages I made several lists of Norren words that I was learning. I wrote any thoughts I put in the journal in English, though, just in case someone should run across it. Since the Norren alphabet was more similar to Nordic runes, it was completely impossible for people to read the English bits, which I found comforting.

I looked over my lists while Stenvar slept, and added new words.

Food:  _ofrava_ , drunk;  _galgerth_ , potion;  _lyf,_ tonic;  _veizlas_ , feast;  _maakt,_ spiced.

People:  _kyna_ , I introduce _; elska_ , sweetheart;  _kaer_ , dear;  _lokei_ , empire;  _Lokolt,_  Empire person/Imperial (aka Romanesque soldier);  _kenaris_ , instructor;  _mathir_ , man;  _kune,_ woman; _vler_ , others;  _thuun,_ outlaw/bandit;  _qiib_ , cute;  _briita_ , beautiful.

Places and Nature:  _lein_ , planet;  _ilman_ , moon;  _Ommin_ , Oblivion.

War:  _gaeta,_ guard;  _stel_ , steel;  _svik,_ forge;  _jern_ , iron;  _nylith_ , recruit;  _dripa_ , kill _; hjor_ , sword;  _skeyr,_ cut/slice.

Emotions:  _loska_ , I love;  _sekna_ , I miss;  _thrae_ , I desire (sexual); _fysan,_ want/desire (not sexual).

Travel:  _aeventyrig_ , adventuring;  _authar_ , treasure;  _stjalt_ , tent;  _merr_ , mare.

Clothing:  _kjol_ , robe;  _serk,_ shirt;  _kerklaeth_ , armor.

Animals:  _feneth_ , cattle;  _frekir_ , wolf;  _fikin,_ fish;  _gifik_ , troll;  _gargen_ , snake.

Commerce:  _sysle,_  business; _kaup_ , buy;  _selja_ , sell;  _thun_ , law.

Weather:  _fo_ , frost;  _himfos_ , rain;  _iz_ , ice.

Possessives:  _han_ , his;  _ha,_ hers;  _da,_ your;  _mina,_ my.

Naughty Words:  _rith_ , fuck;  _rithig_ , fucking;  _neten_ , nuts (probably not the edible kind);  _feikan_ , damn;  _sjugig_ , sucking (goddamn  _rithig_  Thrynn);  _skit,_ shit;  _tut_ , tit;  _bac_ , asshole;  _typ,_ penis;  _pyk,_ cock.

Random:  _vathvet,_ whatever/anything;  _sothas_ , mess;  _legathaar_ , apparently;  _vidth,_ besides;  _laargaar_ , obviously;  _megin_ , strength;  _sist_ , least (at least) _; horma,_ wreck/disaster;  _skapa_ , to create/make _; gypt,_ gift;  _sahla_ , weak;  _finar,_ tofind/discover;  _syn_ , to exist;  _thongar_ , pregnant;  _segja_ , I suggest;  _hvil,_ rest;  _hvera,_ every/all;  _en_ , also;  _truer_ , believe;  _sitja_ , stay;  _klovt,_ head;  _haus,_  skull;  _sil,_ soul _; fortid,_ past;  _frab_ , fantastic;  _rif_ ; rib;  _vodar_ , vanish;  _valtekur_ , raped;  _hefin_ , revenge;  _mirak,_ portal;  _tholet,_ artifact;  _maalut_ , tattooed;  _bahs_ , art;  _nus_ , statue;  _kitel_ , tickle;  _skers,_ scissors.

The rain stopped in the late afternoon, and Stenvar went and bought us some more soup, meat sandwiches, and mead for dinner. It was too late to head out to Windhelm, so we settled in for the evening again. We only talked, though. We each had a bottle of mead to ourselves, which I knew was too much for me, but I drank most of it, anyway.

"I'm beginning to enjoy this honey-wine," I said while washing down my meat sandwich.

Stenvar grunted while chewing his own mouthful.

"I'm beginning to enjoy you," I accidentally said aloud. I took a bite of my sandwich before realizing what I'd said, then stared up at Stenvar – a terrified little deer, in the face of the flashing beam of a grin. I felt my face blush, and I knew my embarrassment was visible when Stenvar started to chuckle and turn a bit red himself.

Nothing more was said on that matter, and soon enough we were both asleep.

We set out the next morning to go back to Windhelm. The ground was wet, but we stuck to the roads to avoid mud. The journey was spent in relative silence with me resting my head against Stenvar's steel-clad chest. Around midday, we stopped by the roadside to have a light lunch.

"I think…." I stared at my chunk of dried beef. "I think I will ask Wuunferth if I can stay for a short time. Work more for him, maybe, if I can."

"I thought I'd be takin' ya to Winterhold in a couple days." He looked up at me, surprised.

I shrugged. "I think I need to learn the language more. Learn the magic-words. I don't want to be there and not understand the instructors."

"Hmph. Well, I have to go to Winterhold anyway. If you don't wanna come with me right away, I suppose I could take ya another time."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. I'm always goin' somewhere. Lots of adventurin' to be done up north. It's just cold as Ysmir's dead nuts up there."

I nearly choked on my jerky. Stenvar, full of grace. "Who is Ysmir?"

Stenvar smiled, finished his meal, and then stood. "Get on the horse; I'll tell ya a story."


	22. Shocking

"So, Ysmir is a title," I said to Stenvar while riding double on his mare.

"Given to the King of the Nords, yes."

"'Dragon of the North'," I repeated the epithet under my breath. "I was told that Ulfric wants to be king. Will he be called Ysmir when he is?"

"I don't know," he answered, "maybe. He can Shout, like all the ancient Nords could, but, I dunno. Talos was also the Dragonborn, so, it's possible that's why he earned the title."

"Dragon-born?"

"Yeah, a hero, dragon-slayer, uses Shouting."

"What do you mean, shouting? I can shout.  _You_  made me shout…," I couldn't suppress a giggle.

Stenvar chuckled. "That's not what I meant."

"Oh, wait! Yes, I remember…. I read a book, a book I found at Helgen. It was called…. The… The Book of the Dragonborn! It was the first book I read."

"Oh you can read, huh? Good for you, sweetheart."

I reached behind me and smacked him awkwardly on his upper arm, and felt his chest vibrate in a quiet laugh. "A friend told me it was a legend."

"A legend that was once true." Stenvar was very persistent in reminding me that not everything was myth in this land. "Some people don't believe dragons truly existed, but I've seen their bones. There's a skull of one in the palace at Whiterun."

"Hmm. So… if there are dragons again…." Big, black, scary ones….

"Yes?"

"Then… there is a dragon-slayer, yes?"

"Sure, I suppose so."

"Maybe Ulfric is that person."

"Hmph, maybe. He was at Helgen, after all."

I placed my hand on Stenvar's, which held my waist. "So was I. And Ralof and other Storm-Cloaks. And Imperials."

Stenvar brushed my jaw-length hair aside and whispered in my ear. "But Ulfric was the only one there who wants to be  _king_. And, he can Shout."

"Shout. Shout. What is this shouting?"

"Dragons Shout."

"No, they roar."

"Well, you were the one at Helgen. Tell me what ya heard."

I didn't want to think back to that day, but I forced myself to. "It sounded like thunder."

"Alright. Did ya see anything? Feel anything odd when you heard the thunder?"

"I…," I closed my eyes and felt the ground shake under me in my memory. Storms gathered in the clouds above me. I fell to the ground.

I opened my eyes. "It made the ground shake. It created a storm in the sky. It blew me over, like strong wind."

"A Shout. I don't know anythin' more about it, but I know dragons are supposed to do that, and so is the Dragonborn." His arm tightened further around my waist.

"Ulfric can do that?" I asked, terrified.

"So people say."

We approached Windhelm sometime in the afternoon, but before we got to the stables Stenvar veered the horse to the right.

"Where are we going?" I asked him.

"The  _Khajiit_  traders are here. I'm gonna see what they'll give me for this stuff."

"I thought you got a good deal from the smith in the city?"

"I do, but I like to keep up a good relationship with the Khajiit, so I trade with 'em whenever I can."

"Ah."

As we approached the small camp outside the city, I thought I was seeing things. "What… is that?"

"Shit. You haven't met a Khajiit, have you, Deb?"

" _Uhh_ …."

"Just… whatever ya do, don't stare, don't…  _say_  anything, alright? It's fine."

"What's  _fine_? What  _is_  that up there?"

"Shut it, alright?"

I squinted out of reflex to see better, thinking my eyes were failing me. "Are they wearing furs?"

"NO, they are  _not_  wearing furs, Deborah. Just keep your mouth shut, please."

"Why!? What…? Oh…." The horse walked closer and stopped just a few meters from the camp. I wasn't hallucinating, I knew I wasn't, but I still couldn't believe my eyes. The people… things… were humanoid cats. Bipedal cats. Cats that were talking, cooking, and wearing clothes.

Stenvar dismounted the horse and helped me down. He unloaded some sacks from the saddle and set them in front of a seated cat-person.

Stenvar was going to trade with a cat.

"Well-met, Ma'dran," Stenvar said, then with a light grunt, sat in front of the cat-person in a similar style, cross-legged or, as Americans unfortunately call it, Indian-style.

"The  _Khajiit_  welcome Stenvar," the cat-person said. The cat-person… said... in a deep, smooth voice.

Kajeet. Kajeet. Talking cat people. People-cats. Kajeet.

"You bring a friend," the cat-person said.

Stenvar tugged at my trousers, indicating I should sit with him. I did, failing at not staring.

"Sorry about her. She doesn't get out much."

"It is fine." The cat-person gave a graceful wave of the hand to dismiss my rudeness, and then reached behind him and brought forth a long pipe. The cat-person inhaled, puffed out delicate rings of smoke, and then passed the pipe to Stenvar who did the same, and then passed the pipe to me.

I stared at Stenvar. I wanted to tell him that I didn't smoke, never had, but this is what Stenvar did immediately upon greeting someone who he obviously knew. I thought perhaps this was the common greeting of the cat-people, like how French people kiss one another's cheeks instead of shaking hands or hugging. I didn't want to be rude, so I accepted the pipe, inhaled very briefly, and exhaled an inelegant puff of smoke, doing my best not to choke. I handed the pipe back to the cat-person, who nodded, smiled, huffed on the pipe, and then set it aside.

"What  _kaupen_  do you bring to the  _Khajiit_  this time, my friend?"

 _Kaupen. Kaupen. Kaup,_ buy.  _Kaupen_ … things to buy? Sell? Wares?

Stenvar set out the weapons and armor we had swiped from the outlaw hideout. In the end, the  _kajeet_  purchased the armor, but not the weapons. Stenvar purchased something in a small bottle, a dagger, leather strips, and two apples. He then asked, "Anything enchanted? The lady's a mage."

Enchanted. Stenvar was asking if they had anything that was enchanted. For me. I figured anything like that would cost a fortune; I wasn't sure how he intended to pay for it.

"Not today, my friend. But, as always,  _Hep_  smiles upon our meeting."

"Indeed, my friend." Stenvar stood, gathered up the rest of the things we'd looted, replaced them onto the horse, and continued on foot up to the stables.

I followed, but refrained from speaking until we left the stables with the heavy bags. "What the fuck? There are… are…  _animal_  people here? Do people  _fuck_ animals!?"

Stenvar continued walking. "No,  _hinsk_. No one  _fucks_  animals. At least… not normal people."

"Then  _what the fuck_ …. I mean…  _what-_ "

"I'll tell you later. Help me with these sacks. We'll sell this stuff first."

* * *

 

Khajiit. I asked Stenvar to write the name down for me while we dined at the Candlehearth. As he explained it, the cat-people were from far to the south and were rare in Sky-Rim, but some came to trade here. I asked him how they came to be, if some man mated with a cat long ago, but he had no idea, and doubted that as the origin.

"They look like the…. Well, a small statue from my world. Very, very old. From a time when… art, music… first began. A place called  _Germania_." I used the Latin word for Germany for some reason. "They found the statue in a cave with many other old things – 'tholeten'." The Swabian Alps were a happening place, forty thousand years ago.

"Are you sayin' you've seen statues of Kahjiit before?" Stenvar asked.

"No. No, no…. It is just one… well, two statues that  _look_  like Kahjiit."

"Found in a cave, you say?"

I looked up at Stenvar. "Yes. People lived in caves, back then."

He scratched his chin. "A cave… like, the one you fell from?"

I shook my head. "No, no one lived in the cave where I fell from. Not like this, like the far-past. It was covered in ice, back then."

"Covered in ice?" Stenvar's eyes widened. "Like Atmora?"

"Atmora?"

Stenvar rummaged through his knapsack and retrieved a scrap of paper and some charcoal. He began to sketch something out. "Atmora's where my people came from, a very long time ago. But, now, it's covered in ice. It's an island, far north of here." He showed me the rough sketch of a map.

"So…. This world is in an Ice Time."

"Ice Time?"

I nodded. "A time when the planet is… in a specific place." Me trying to explain astrophysics in another language was not a good idea. "Difficult to explain. A colder time than other times."

Stenvar sat back in his chair and stared at me for a moment. "You really  _aren't_  slow, are ya?"

I smirked and grabbed my bottle of mead. "Nope." I sipped my mead, trying not to grin.

"I bet in your world, you're all kinds of smart, readin' all the books." He sipped from his own bottle, still staring at me.

I laughed into my bottle. "Not that smart. Not slow, though. I am an instructor."

"Instructor of what?"

"The lives of people long dead."

"Like  _tholeten_? Like your tattoos?"

I nodded. "Exactly that."

"Do you go into old places? Explore where people lived before?"

"Yes."

Stenvar laughed. "I do that."

I half-rolled my eyes. "I don't think you do what I do. Not the same thing."

"No, maybe not, but I go to places like that."

"To search for treasure…."

"Man's gotta eat." He smiled and took a huge bite out of his steak, using his hands.

I sighed and continued eating my own meal in a far more civilized fashion. After I finished, I stood from the table. "I'm going to go to the palace and see Wuunferth. Do you want to come?"

"No, I don't go to the palace."

"Why not?"

"Galmar and I aren't exactly friends."

"Because you disagree too much?"

"That, and I was married to 'is sister."

I sat back down. "Was that your first or second wife?"

"First." Stenvar took a long drag from his mead bottle.

"I thought you said she left  _you._ "

"She  _did_ leave me. But who would  _you_  believe: your sister or the man fuckin' 'er?"

I sighed. "I am sure everyone is in their private quarters at this time of night. Come with me to see Wuunferth. Please? I will not have to come back to tell you if I stay or not."

Stenvar shrugged and refrained from looking at me. "If you can't stay, you'll be back here anyway." He finished his mead and shouted for another.

I stood without responding. Reasoning seemed futile, since for whatever reason Stenvar was actually afraid of Galmar, Ralof's commanding officer, Ulfric's second-in-command. Afraid of a big teddy-bear. I shook my head, settled my heavy, two-strap knapsack across my back, leaned forward and kissed Stenvar's stubbly head. I turned to go without a word, but Stenvar tugged at my knapsack, pulling me with enough force to land my backside on his lap. My arms instinctively wrapped around his neck.

"Careful! Lucky my sword is in the sheath!" I laughed nervously as I was face-to-face with Stenvar's ever-serious dark grey eyes which, now in the light of the inn, showed a hint of green.

The man said nothing, merely planted a firm kiss onto my lips. His tongue gently prodded my lips apart. His embrace became tender as it continued. He nearly convinced me to stay. Mouth still on his, I whined, and pushed myself away from him and onto my feet. I knew I was blushing. I tidied my hair, armor and fur cloak, and cleared my throat.

"If I am not back tonight—"

"I know, I know." His smile was weak. "I hope you get what you want."

A sighing laugh escaped my mouth, and I descended the stairs to the inn exit.

* * *

 

"Of course I would welcome your assistance, Deborah," Wuunferth answered, obviously somewhat excited to have an assistant again. "I cannot pay you much, though. I can assure you a bed, and food, and a small wage. All unofficial, of course, but I can afford maybe… five septims a day from my own wages."

"That is all I need, Wuunferth. I am very glad you said yes. I was… nervous… about going to the college without knowing all the magic-words."

"Do you mean the words mages use?"

"Yes, that."

He stood in front of me, studying me. "I am admittedly happy you are still here, in this world. I bet there is a good reason for it."

"Oh. Yes…." I still didn't know what to think about that.

"Mm. Come and see me in the morning, after breakfast. Until then, sleep in one of the beds in the room next to mine. It is meant for visitors and families, so if anyone gives you trouble, tell them to see me."

"Thank you, very, very much, Wuunferth."

"Of course. Goodnight, my dear."

"Goodnight." I turned to hide my ecstatic and relieved smile and exited the mage's quarters. I didn't care about the low wages. Without needing to pay for a room at the inn, I would definitely be fine with five septims a day, so long as the food at the palace was free, which Wuunferth said would be the case.

I set my things down next to an unclaimed bed in the mostly-empty room adjacent to Wuunferth's. The identical room across the hall had what appeared to be a family inside, and someone was snoring heavily there, so I avoided that room.

I headed down the hall to the shared washroom. There were multiple tall and short washbasins there, as well as several private baths surrounded by stone walls and curtains. There were also soaps and linens available to use, and three latrines, also separated by stone walls and curtains. If these, too, were free to use, I would definitely be fine here, even with a piddly wage.

I examined the baths. They did not work in the same way the ones at the Candlehearth did. These were elevated stone basins, and behind them each was a chain. Above the basin, I saw what looked like bronze pipes, and they were hot to the touch. I stood near the chain and pulled, and down came steaming water into the stone basin. I smelled a faint hint of sulfur, and I knew the water came from mineral baths. Or, I hoped that was the reason for the smell. I figured the soaps and scents provided in the room would counter-act the sulfur, which as I knew from my time in Iceland could sometimes stay with you, particularly in your hair.

I grabbed a fresh linen towel, soap, a bottle of flowery oil, slipped out of my linen underarmor and underwear, and climbed into the tub.

" _Fuuuuck_ ," I sighed as the mineral, flower-scented water caressed my naked, horse-scented skin.

I was going to like living here.

* * *

 

Before seeing Wuunferth the next morning, feeling fresh as a spring daisy and smelling like a bouquet of them, I headed out to the Candlehearth to tell Stenvar the news that he likely figured out on his own.

"Is Stenvar still here?" I asked the innkeeper, whose name I'd forgotten.

"He's paid up. Left around dawn," she replied.

"Left? To where?"

She shrugged. "Dunno. He'll be back. Always is. I can keep a message for him here, if ya like."

I frowned. "No, no. He knows." I turned to look at the inn doors.  _He knows…_.

* * *

 

"So, you can create lightning, and sparks, and heal, correct?" Wuunferth asked.

"Yes. I don't know others, except the words you taught me."

Wuunferth stroked his beard. "Well, as for assisting me, perhaps you can help me enchant items."

"Enchant? Sure, I suppose. With the… soul-gems, yes?"

"Indeed." Wuunferth retrieved a broadsword and laid it across the glowing table with the demonic skull and crystal ball full of swirling stuff. "This sword needs to be  _aftfylt_."

"Needs what?"

"More enchanting. I  _fylt_  it once with the power of a soul, but it is empty now. See how the metal does not glow?"

I nodded.

"A sword enchanted with the power that you hold, the power of lightning, would glow white- _fjolut_."

"White what?"

Wuunferth chuckled. "My dear, you were right to stay here a while longer. I have more patience than most would. But, only because you are not from this land."

"Thank you, Wuunferth. I apologize for my… not knowing words."

He shook his hand as if to dismiss the issue. "No matter. Just learn, remember."

"I have a journal. I write words in it."

"Good, yes, I recall you writing in one. That is smart of you. You're not at  _hinska_  as you look."

"Ehh, thanks?"

"Alright. I will explain to you exactly what I do to  _aftfylt_  this weapon's charge." He placed a large soul-gem on the table. "With my left hand, I hold the soul-gem. The left hand is better at receiving power. With my right hand, I project the power onto the blade. The right hand is better at projecting." He turned to face me. "If you ever have to use magic to fight in one hand, and the other to heal or hold a shield, always use the right hand to fight, and the left to heal, or block."

I nodded. The instructions were easy enough to remember, since I was right-handed anyway.

Wuunferth turned back to the table. "I draw the power of the soul-gem within me, and transmit the power of lightning – or fire, or ice, whatever it is you wish to enchant the blade with – directly onto the blade. If I were enchanting a different kind of weapon, or armor, the process would be somewhat different. I will show you that, later." Wuunferth gripped the soul-gem tightly and I watched as sparks emerged from his palm and covered the broadsword in a white-purple light.  _Fjolut_. Purple.

I held up my own palm and willed tiny sparks to emerge, just like Stenvar taught me. Not enough to kill, but enough to make flesh tingle, in a good way. I frowned, remembering how Stenvar left without a word this morning. He had said he would leave in a few days, not immediately. I recalled the way he had kissed me in the inn the night before, however, split the difference, and forgot him for the time being.

When Wuunferth was finished, the soul gem fractured into several dark purple, jagged pieces, and the sword shimmered white-purple. "You must be  _fantlata_  when enchanting weapons. Once finished, the soul-gem is destroyed, and may never be used again."

"Where do the soul-gems come from? How are they made? How are they filled with souls?"

"The gems themselves come from the earth, just as any gem. You are familiar with such a process, yes?"

"Yes. People… dig. Gems, gold…."

"Precisely. These gems, obviously, are special. They are the only ones that are known to have the ability to contain life itself."

"What happens to the soul when it is put on the weapon?" I picked up the fragments of the used, dark soul-gem fragments.

"It becomes bound to the weapon until the life force is exhausted."

"And then the soul released?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, my dear, I am sure. To bind a soul for all eternity to any one item would be quite grim."

"Indeed," I said, setting down the fragments on the glowing table.

"Oh, please, keep the fragments, if you like. They are worthless once used."

"Oh, alright, thank you." I placed the fragments into my knapsack. "And the soul, how does it enter the gem?"

"A spell, or a weapon enchanted with the spell." The old mage scratched his bearded lower cheek. "In fact…." He walked over to a chest, unlocked it, and pulled out a dagger. He walked back over to me holding the weapon. "This dagger is enchanted with such a spell." He handed me the weapon, and I accepted it. "I can give you a few empty soul-gems, if you would be willing to fill them for me."

"Just animals, yes?"

"Yes, my dear. I do not keep black soul-gems, which are the only ones that will accept the soul of a human, elf or other similar  _skepin_."

I stared at the dagger which was placed in a black leather sheath. I pulled it out, and the metal glowed bright purple. "This is brighter than that sword."

"Yes. The enchantment is stronger."

"Why stronger?"

"It depends on the person doing the enchanting. For instance, if you were to enchant something with the power of lightning as I did, the metal would barely glow. Whoever enchanted this dagger was a very powerful mage."

"More than you?"

"Hmph, yes. It is difficult to believe, I know." The old mage smirked, and I couldn't help but smile. Wuunferth retrieved three small, dark soul-gems from a shelf and handed them to me. "These will hold the souls of small animals, including elks and wolves. If you ever go hunting with someone, take these with you, and ask to make the final, killing strike with the dagger."

I stared at the gems, each as big as my hand. "Do people here pray for… to make the gods not angry when they do this?"

"Pray? Well, for sure, many hunters thank the gods for a meaty elk."

"And not feel guilty about using souls in this way?"

"I suppose some do." Wuunferth placed a dagger and soul-gem on the glowing table and turned to me. "If you feel too much guilt about the process, I suggest you avoid enchanting."

Frowning, I clutched the dagger and gems, and turned to place them gently in my knapsack. "No, it is fine. In my world, some people…. They pray to thank the animal, to not anger the soul, to ruin future hunts." I hugged my mage-robe-clad body with my arms.

"A little prayer never hurt anyone, my dear.  _Forar_ is to know the gods."

"'Forar'?

" _Forar._  As you said, pray to the soul of the animal, to appease their anger."

 _Forar._ Forgive. To forgive is to know the gods. Or, I suppose, be divine. Heh.

"Now, I have placed an old, rusted iron dagger on the table with a small soul-gem. Try to enchant it."

I walked over to the glowing enchanting table. Still hugging myself, I stared at the items. "With lightning?" I asked.

"Sure. That is what you know, after all."

I lowered my hands to the items, grasped the small, light-purple opaque gem in my left hand, and pressed my fingers on the rusted blade. "I draw in the power first?"

"Yes."

I concentrated on the gem in my left hand, and felt nothing. The gem did not change. "Nothing is happening."

"Ask it."

"Ask it?"

"The soul-gem, yes. Ask it to give you its energy."

My mouth contorted in concentration and frustration, but I did as Wuunferth suggested.  _Dear soul in this gem,_ I said in my head, _please forgive the fate you were given and let me use you to enchant this rusted blade? I promise you won't be stuck there forever._

Nothing happened.

I tried again.  _Dear soul in this gem, please allow me to use your power to fight evil with this dagger. Your soul will rejoice in victory!_

Nothing. I looked over at Wuunferth who stood with his arms crossed. "It won't listen," I said. "Am I thinking in the wrong language?"

Wuunferth chuckled. "It is a soul, Deborah. Souls do not know language."

I frowned, and turned back to the table.  _Alright, soul-gem. One more time, and if it doesn't work this time, I'll move on forever. I need a job, soul-gem. I need a profession. I am apparently a mage, and apparently mages can do things like enchant weapons. If I can't enchant a silly little dagger, I doubt I will be able to enchant anything. Help me out a little… please?_

BAM. I felt a push inside my left arm. I jumped. Wuunferth noticed.

"The lightning. Now!" he said, full of excitement.

I willed the sparks to emit from my right hand and felt it travel down my fingers and onto the rusted metal. The dagger began to glow white-purple where it was not covered with rust. The gem, held in my left hand, shattered against my flesh, and the force I had felt in my body was gone. I stopped the sparks from forming and dropped the gem fragments on the table. I picked up the dagger and examined it, then showed it to Wuunferth.

The old mage nodded in approval. "Very good, my dear. Very good. What did you do differently, in the end?"

I pressed a finger to my lips, thinking. "I… I suppose I may have made it feel sorry for me."

Wuunferth stared at me for a moment, and then suddenly broke into a cackling laugh.

I crossed my arms over my chest. "What is funny?"

He pushed back his mage's hood, and for the first time I saw his full head of thick, white hair. If he were a fat man, he'd make a good Santa Claus. "I laugh, because that is precisely what I did when I was just beginning." He handed me back the dagger. "Keep it. No one will buy that piece of  _skraen_ , but at least you now have a dagger. If you need to defend yourself, use  _that_  one,  _not_  the other one I gave you." His stern look faded back into a jovial one as he walked back to his pile of weapons to enchant.

I stared down at the rusted dagger that shined dimly. "Thank you," I whispered at the blade.


	23. Curious

"Deborah?" A familiar, thickly-accented voice sounded from behind me.

I turned to see a smiling Yrsarald, who I supposed had come to eat lunch as well. "Good afternoon, Yrsarald."

The huge man chuckled as he sat down next to me. "My name still sounds strange on your lips."

"Oh…," I said, embarrassed.

"Eh, it's fine. You just have a strange accent." He poured himself some mead and took a huge bite out of an apple. "You cut your hair."

I tugged on a jaw-length tress. "Yes."  _So that no one can yank me down to the ground again…._

"I had heard you were back. Assisting Wuunferth now, yes?"

"Mm," I nodded and chewed my bite of a meat-pastry-thing. "For a short time. I need to go to Winterhold, to the college, but, before, learn the words mages use."

"I thought you had left already, for the College, but someone mentioned you were with Stenvar Grey- _Mun_."

I looked to Yrsarald, who had a curious look in his eyes. "Stenvar helped me with something." I looked away and continued eating. I felt defensive toward Yrsarald's comment, for whatever reason.

"Hmm," the man said. "He is good for killing outlaws, I hear. He was a good soldier, years ago."

"He is training me in swords."

"Ah? Well, good. Glad the old man can still get some work. Get good enough and we'll see about getting you into the Stormcloaks, hmm?" He smiled cheerfully at me and finished his apple in one final enormous bite, then reached for a chunk of cheese.

I finished my pastry and stood. "We will see," I said, turning to go back upstairs. "Good day, Yrsarald." I made for the door to the stairway.

"Good day, Deborah."

* * *

 

"Wuunferth, here is the letter you asked me to deliver to Savos Aren. I forgot to give it back to you before." I held the folded, sealed paper out to the mage. "I was going to…." I suddenly felt a wave of anxiety flush over me. "I was going to give it to a friend to take, but he left too soon."

"Well, now that you are my assistant," he gently pushed my hand away from him, "you can take it to the courier's  _kont_."

"The what?"

"The place where one pays for a letter to be delivered."

"Oh." I tucked the letter back into my knapsack. "Where is it?"

"By the  _bryggen_."

"The what?"

 _Bryggen_. Ship landing area. Docks. I put on my fur cloak over my mage's robe and headed out of the palace. Yrsarald was still eating when I passed him. He smiled at me. Yrsarald the Mountain-Man  _always_  smiled at me.

It was snowing again, which was no surprise. The wind blew the snow in my face and stung the flesh. I wished for my super-warm parka, and thought I should fashion a hood onto this cloak. A big puffy one. Made out of fox fur.

I didn't think to ask for a map to the city; I sincerely doubted they had one anyway. I was shit with directions, though, and continually reminded myself the way. Left from the palace. Then a right. Out the big gates and down the steps. First door on the right.

Shivering, even under my cloak, I made my way carefully down the icy, stone steps toward the docks. I turned right, and opened the door to a room full of lizard-people.

* * *

 

I was on the floor, a wooden floor, looking up at a human. A human man. He looked concerned.

"Are you alright?" the man with short-cropped black hair asked in a gentle voice. "You hit your head when you fell."

I blinked up at him. "I…," I felt the back of my head where a dull ache throbbed. "I suppose I am."

"Here, let me help you stand," the man said, offering his hand.

I stood, and smiled my thanks to the man. Then I turned to the right… and then screamed, ran to a corner, crumbled to the floor, hugged my knees to my chest, and cried.

"What's wrong with her?" I heard someone say.

"You said she passed out when she walked into the  _Samkom_?"

"Yes." Footsteps. "I think this is her first meeting with  _Argonianen_."

I squeezed my eyes shut and refused to look up. Cat-people. Lizard-people. This was not OK.

Someone walked up to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. " _Frek,_ there is no need to fear the  _Argonianen_. They will not harm you."

I opened my eyes to see the nice man crouched before me. He had a kind smile. "'Argonianen'?" I repeated the word.

A lizard-person walked up to me, but kept a polite distance. It had two large, curved horns and feathers atop its head. Its skin was like that of a snake. It was wearing clothes. "I am  _Skata-_ Many- _Myren_. I am an  _Argonian_." He turned to his right. "This is Neetrenaza and Shahvee. You walked into our quarters… by mistake, I assume."

I stared up at the lizard-man whose name made no sense. I looked at the others next to him. One wore a skirt. I supposed that was a female. She had small horns on her head. The other male had many large horns.

I realized I wasn't breathing, and when I inhaled, I began to hyperventilate.

The nice man frowned. "It's alright, it's alright. Calm down, now." He turned to the horned one. "Thank you,  _Skata_. I think she needs a moment…."

The one with the curved horns nodded, and the lizard-people left.

When the door closed, I felt as though I was suddenly allowed to breath properly again. I sucked in as much air as I could, of course making the situation in my lungs worse.

"Calm down or you'll pass out again," the nice man said.

I knew what to do. I've had this happen before. I covered my mouth and forced myself to breathe slowly. I felt the tears of anxiety escape my eyes, but eventually my breathing slowed.

"That's it, that's it. Breathe." The nice man grasped each of my shoulders and breathed with me. When my breath became almost normal again, he stood. "Come on; let's get you into a chair."

I allowed him to help me stand. I was sat in a chair by a desk. The man walked away. I looked around me and realized I was in a sort of warehouse. It was then I realized I had turned in the wrong direction. This was where the courier was.

"Here's some water," the man said, handing me a cup.

"Thank you," I said with a weak smile, accepting his offer.

The man pulled up a chair and sat backwards on it, leaned on the back, and faced me. "My name is Garg. What's yours?"

 _Garg. Gargen._ "Your name is Snake?" I asked after gulping down some water.

The man smiled. "Well, that's what they call me here. My mother calls me Oski."

I finished the water. "Deb. I'm Deb. Deborah."

"You must be new around here," he said.

"Is it obvious?" I managed a smile.

The man, Snake, laughed. "Were you looking for the courier's  _kont_? Some people turn the wrong way, end up like you did, in the  _Argonian Samkom."_

"The what?"

"The  _Argonian Samkom_ , where you passed out."

"'Samkom'…." I stared at the now-empty cup. "'Argonian'… is… snake-man?"

Snake scoffed. "Snake-man? No, no. They're  _Argonianen_."

I stared blankly at Snake.

"From Black  _Myr_ …."

I continued to stare.

Snake lifted an eyebrow. "You must've hit your head harder than we thought. Well, at least you're talking. Did you have a letter that needed sending?"

"Letter…. Yes, yes." I shook the confusion out of my brain and massaged the back of my head where a slight bump was forming. "To Winterhold."

"Winterhold? If it's just a letter, it's three septims."

I pulled out the three coins Wuunferth had given me, and then the letter, and handed them to Snake. "You're a courier?"

"Yep, but I'm not the one that goes to Winterhold." He placed the letter in a small bin on a shelf. The bin had "Winterhold" written on it. He then placed the coins in a lockbox, wrote something in a book on the desk, wrote on a piece of paper, handed the paper to me, then walked to the shelf full of boxes, bins, and packages. "That's Bird. He'll be back in a few days."

A receipt. At the top of the paper was written some symbols I didn't recognize, and below read:  _Deb. Savos Aren. Winterhold. Letter. Three septims._  "Bird? Do you all have animal names?"

Snake chuckled. "No, that's Bird's real name. Well, it's Orri, which is a mountain bird. It's just a coincidence."

I tucked the receipt into my bag and set the empty cup on the desk. "Did I… embarrass myself, Snake?"

The courier looked over to me from the shelf, and then smiled. "Maybe. How have you never heard of  _Argonianen_?"

I thought to what Stenvar had said to the cat-person, Khajiit, when we arrived at Windhelm. "I don't get out much."

* * *

 

A week later, I was in Wuunferth's quarters, practicing enchanting and making notes in my journal when a knock came at the door, which was partially open. I put down my journal and walked over to see a smiling Snake. A guard escorted him.

"Well, I finally found you," he said. "Not many people here know who you are."

"No, they don't."

Snake handed me a large package wrapped in burlap. "It's not heavy, but it's large. Came for you last night."

"From who?"

"Bird didn't say. There's a letter, though." He pointed to the folded paper tucked under the strings. "Well, must be going. Have a nice day, Deb."

"Thank you, Snake," I said as he scampered down the hallway.

I placed the large package on Wuunferth's desk and slipped out the letter. It wasn't sealed, and looked like it was written in a hurry. Again I saw symbols at the top that I didn't recognize, and it took me a long while, but I could mostly read the short note.

_Deb,_

_Here are some things for you I found in Winterhold. Also_ fylgt _are the rest of the coins you used to hire me. Give them back to the old mage. You don't need to pay me, not_ langur _. I_ afsok _for leaving so quickly, I just had things to do. I left a note with Susanna at the Candlehearth to give to you. I hope you got it._

 _Your old_ seljor _,_

_Stenvar_

"I didn't get a note," I muttered to myself.

Wuunferth entered while I was cutting the strings around the package. "Is that for me?" he asked.

"No, me." I turned, and handed him the letter. "I made marks by words I do not know. Can you tell me?" I picked up my journal and quill.

Wuunferth sighed, but read the letter. "Ah, so you've made a friend, I see. Well…. The first thing on the top is the day."

"The day?"

"Yes, and month and year. Have you learned our way of counting days, yet?"

I shook my head.

The old mage sighed again and continued reading the note. "Included. Anymore. Apologize. Sellsword." Wuunferth looked up at me from the paper. My father often gave me a similar look. "You made friends with the sellsword you hired?"

I blushed, and took back the letter. "Yes…." I quickly scribbled, in English, the words Wuunferth had said.

Wuunferth made a strange laugh, and turned and left me to my business.

I finally got the package open. I had figured, by the feel, that the contents were clothing, but I had no idea what to expect. I pulled out what looked like a more elaborate mage's robe. I held it against my body and turned to Wuunferth with a questioning look.

The old mage studied the garment. "Ah, yes, the robe of a  _laerling_."

"A what?"

"A mage somewhat more powerful than yourself.  _But_ , I don't see the harm in wearing it, now that you have it."

"My robe is old-looking." I frowned. The robe Stenvar sent had more leather trimmings and a sort of leather mantle that lay across the shoulders and chest. "This one looks warmer."

"It may well be."

I took out the next piece of cloth, flipped it around a few times, and realized it was a hood. "What is the name, Wuunferth?" I pointed to the hood that I had placed on my head.

"Heh,  _hetta_. Let me see," he said as he walked over to me. He examined the fabric. "A  _laerling hetta_. Your sellsword sent you these?"

"Yes. He said he found them in Winterhold."

"Hmm. Unlikely he found them. Either bought them or… well, stole them, I suppose."

"He would not steal. If he steals, why did he send all this gold?"

Wuunferth smiled and lowered his own hood. "Men do strange things for a pretty  _antlet_."

"What is 'antlet'?"

"The only thing I can see when your  _hetta_  is up." Wuunferth winked, and then turned to his alchemy table.

I slipped the hood off, placed it on top of the new, folded mage's robe, and picked up the last item in the package, aside from the small sack of gold. A book.

I sat down, book in hand. I didn't understand the title, but opened to the first page. I silently sounded out the words, and recognized the words "healers" and "Imperial". I skimmed the second page, and stopped at a long word at the bottom of the page that I did not know, right next to "and Khajiit". I mouthed the sounds, and realized it was the word that Snake had used to describe the lizard-people.

Argonians.

 _Too late, Stenvar_ , I thought.  _Too late…._

I stood, placed my gifts by my knapsack and journal, and tucked Stenvar's letter in my old robes. "Wuunferth, I will return soon. I have to see someone."

"Sure, sure," he said, waving me off, his gaze never leaving his alchemy table.

I wrapped my cloak around me and headed out to the Candlehearth. On the way out of the palace, I passed by Yrsarald, Galmar, Jorleif and Jarl Ulfric all sitting at the banquet table. I didn't give them a second look, though I noticed Ulfric staring at me, and Yrsarald looking curious again.

It was snowing still, and I walked quickly. The innkeeper was there at the desk.

"Where is Susanna?" I asked in a tone more harsh than was necessary.

At my words, the innkeeper burst into tears, and ran from my sight.

"Oh,  _lela_  Suzzzzannnna," a very drunk voice sounded from behind me. I turned to see a man dressed in old, dirty clothes.

"What? Why does the innkeeper cry?" I asked.

"You yelled for Zzzzanna. Sssuzzanna is dead." He took a swig from a bottle.

"Dead? When?" I recalled she had served me and Stenvar the night we came back to Windhelm.

"Killed, smmm days ago…." He burped. "I'd jus' seen 'er leave, but…. The screams. The screamzz…."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: In case you haven't noticed, I like detailing the little cultural things... Also, I guess it's clear what the next chapter will involve... Don't worry, I won't be regurgitating the same old quest...


	24. Wicked

I had admittedly awkward feelings about her death. I didn't know Susanna very well at all, but I had an odd and out-of-place feeling of jealousy when she was around Stenvar. She was a beautiful woman, and made me feel about as sexy as a hippo. But, from the sound of things, she met a nasty end, one that I doubted anyone would wish upon her.

"What is the name of the innkeeper?" I asked the drunken man. I figured it would be impolite to ask the woman herself, particularly since she was crying.

"Elllda." He shook his head and buried his face in his drink.

I turned to where Elda the innkeeper had run off. The hall had a series of doors, one of which I knew was hers. "Elda?" I called. Sounds of weeping emerged from the door to my right. I knocked, then entered, and closed the door behind me. The innkeeper looked up at me, face soaked with tears. "I'm sorry," I began. "I didn't want to sound… angry. I heard what happened…. But I am wondering, if she gave you a note from Stenvar, for me, or maybe one might be in her room?"

Elda sniffled. "Deb, right?"

I nodded.

"No, sorry. No note. Nothing. Her room is across from mine…. Everything is still there."

I frowned. "Thank you. And, sorry…." I left and closed her door, and opened the door to Susanna's room. It was near-spotless. Nothing seemed out of place. I opened the drawer to her night table first, in which were some gold coins, an elaborate gold necklace with a floral pendant, and something made of gold or brass that nearly every woman would know is used for self-pleasuring.

No note.

I opened the wardrobe, the only other furniture in the room other than the bed. Very little was kept inside, and nothing where a note would be kept.

And then, I had a thought.  _If I were to hide a note_ ….

I lifted the mattress and saw dozens of folded pieces of paper. I felt a lump in my throat form, for some reason thinking that the papers were all notes, and all from Stenvar. I then gave myself a mental smack upside the head for thinking that way about a man I'd just met. Despite the fact that I'd been intimate with him, I had no right to feel so possessive. And yet, I also felt that way about Ralof, a man who turned me down. Sighing, I swept the notes onto the floor and lowered the mattress.

Most of the notes had names written on one of the folds, and most of them were for Susanna. None of them were for me, but some of them were for other women. Never able to ignore my curiosity, I flipped open every note, just to see who they were from, and if any of the unlabeled ones were for me; none were.

Most of them were from men whose names I did not recognize. Some of them were from Stenvar.

Being the nosy no-good jealous rat that I am, I made a pile of the ones from Stenvar and tucked them into the large pocket of my mage's robe. I decided to keep Susanna's secret, though, and piled the remaining notes and tossed them back under the mattress.

I walked back to the drunken man. "Where are the dead bodies taken?"

"To Hlllgrrd in the hall 'v th' dead." He burped, and continued drinking.

"Thanks…." I figured I'd get a better answer by asking someone else, someone sober, like a guard.

I hugged my cloak tight to my body and went back outside. I found a guard, who pointed me in the direction of the hall of the dead, to a woman named Helgird. I didn't get lost, that time.

I didn't want to go to a morgue, I really didn't, but my unending curiosity caused a necessity to find whatever note Stenvar left with Susanna enough to trump my fear of dead bodies. Upon entering, I heard an old woman's voice muttering to herself.

"Helgird?" I called out, cautiously.

"Back here," a stern voice answered.

I stepped around the corner only to wish I hadn't. On a table were the remnants of Susanna's body, still yet unburied. "Why…. Why is she not in the ground!?"

"Ground's frozen," answered the old woman. "She's been preserved, though. Well, what's left of her."

"Frozen? In summer?" I couldn't look away, but I desperately wanted to. I had only been around a dead body once before, and it wasn't in pieces as this one was.

"Yeah, happens. What can I do for ya?"

"I'm, ehh, looking for a note, one that Susanna may have had on her when she… ehh…."

"Note? Note… note…." The old woman walked over to a tall bookshelf where boxes of items were stacked. She pulled out a small box labeled with Susanna's name. "Dagger, coins, clothes, necklace. Nope, no note. Sorry, dear."

My eyes never left Susanna's body. "All the cuts are at the… ehh… places where you bend," I said.

"Ah, you noticed that too, eh? Yes. All the major  _tengen: kneien, elben, oklen, axen._ "  _Tengen._ Joints. Knees, elbows, ankles, I guessed, and maybe  _axen_  were shoulders, since there were cuts there, too.

"Why?" I asked, mystified.

"Well, all of her tendons are missing, as is her mother-stomach."

"Her what?"

"Mother-stomach," Helgird pointed to Susanna's lower abdomen which had a gaming hole in it.

Mother-stomach. Womb.

My actual stomach flipped as tales of Jack the Ripper came to mind.

"Why is there a big cut on her leg here?" I pointed at her upper right leg. The gash was nasty, like a huge animal's claw made the cut.

"The leg bone is missing," the old woman answered.

"The whole bone?"

"Yep. Strange, eh? Almost as strange as the last one."

The lump in my throat came back. "Last one?"

"Yep. Poor Friga was torn apart, much like this. Different parts missing, though."

"When was Friga killed?"

"Oh, about a month ago. The other women… oh, from time to time, going back almost half a year."

 _Other women._  I hugged my body. "Joints," I said, still staring at Susanna's body. "The things from joints are used for… to make things strong. Clothing and things. But we use them from animals, not people…."

"Exactly." The old woman looked at me funny. She was studying me. "Who  _are_ you?"

"Deb. I am Wuunferth's assistant."

"And why are you looking for a note Susanna was carrying?"

"Someone wrote a note for me, but gave it to her to give it to me later."

The woman crossed her arms and tapped her fingers in succession on her yellow robe. She wasn't buying the truth.

"I also am a bit… I have some knowledge of these things."  _Lies, lies, lies_. But, no one else here had watched a multitude of episodes of crime-and-detective television shows.

"What things?"

"Finding the killer." I said, crossing my arms in kind. I figured acting pompous at this stage would at least help me seem less unsure of myself. "I also know bones, and know bodies." Truth, somewhat. "When was she found?" I stepped closer to the body, willing myself not to vomit.

The real fear I held for dead bodies came from the feeling that they would open their eyes and bite me at any moment. They were the number one reason I never wanted to be a forensic anthropologist. Fear of dead bodies was kind of a problem, there.

"Seven days ago, sometime before dawn," Helgird said.

"Are you sure? Seven days ago?"

"Of course I'm sure."

I gagged on my breakfast, but forced it back down my throat. "If… if you need help, I am happy to… you know…."

The old woman grumbled under her breath. "Well, a second set of eyes never hurt. And if you think you can do better than the guards at finding the killer, be my guest. But I don't think they'll like you stepping on their  _taen_."

"Thank you. I will… ask people…." I left the morgue, and vomited on the snow. After I mourned the loss of the yummy pastries I'd eaten, I buried their remains in the snow, and headed back to the palace.

Seven days. One week.

The calendar system here was almost exactly the same as the one in my world, which I found terribly, terribly odd. I figured with two moons, at least the seasons would be different, but at most they seemed longer. Or, rather, there seemed to be only three seasons: winter, spring, and summer. Winter was the longest season. I didn't know anything really about climatology or astrophysics, but I thought perhaps the calendar here had more to do with the sun than the moon, since most primitive calendars were based on moon cycles and were different from the Gregorian calendar. I had, however, considered that their calendar system  _was_  based on moon cycles, but since there were two moons, the cycles just happened to line up almost exactly with my world's solar calendar.

I forced my brain to stop stalling and confront the coincidental timing.

Susanna was killed seven days ago. Stenvar left seven days ago. Stenvar left a non-existent note with Susanna. Susanna hoarded notes meant for other women. My note was not among them. Stenvar had written notes to Susanna and other women in the past.

As I entered the palace, a chill  _not_ from the cold weather ran up my spine. I went immediately up to Wuunferth's quarters, and shut and locked the door behind me. Wuunferth looked up from his chair with an expression that said "what the hell is wrong with you?"

I stared wide-eyed at Wuunferth, taking a moment to collect my thoughts before speaking. "Women are killed." No, that wasn't right. I covered my face with my hands and shook my head. "Women were killed."

" _Hmph_. So you've heard."

"You know?"

"Of course I know. It's my job to know." He took a bite out of some bread.

I stared at the calm, old mage. "You do nothing?"

"I have done all that I can, given what we know."

"What do you know?"

"That is not your business, Deborah."

"But, I can help. I… know things. From my world. I know bodies, I know bones, and I know other… other…." I was unnerved, and couldn't find the right words. "I have read… things… that write about killed people."

Wuunferth stared at me, still eating his bread. When he swallowed, he asked, "Do you mean to say people who were  _morthvurt_?"

"If  _morthvurt_  means… almost same as killed…."

"What did you do in your world, Deborah?"

I sighed, and took a seat near Wuunferth. I told him what I did for a job, that I was a professor and archaeologist. I explained it as best I could, as I had with Stenvar. I told Wuunferth that I had a decent enough background in the human skeleton and all skeletons in fact, and somewhat of an education in the rest of a body's anatomy. I also had "studied" – as opposed to watched television shows of – murder cases.

"So, from what you know, what are your thoughts?" the old mage asked.

"Thoughts?" I had no idea. None whatsoever. Except one. "Only women have died."

"And why women, do you think? Why not men?"

"Anger. Revenge. Something… something about what women mean to the killer. Why would someone take parts of women, Wuunferth? Not the same parts, but… bones, and… inside parts, and joints, and… the things that hold joints together."

"I don't know. Were their hearts missing?"

"Hearts? I don't know."

"There is… a  _stroh_ … that some people in this land use to pray to a dark god."

"A dark god!?"  _Crap_. I didn't like where this was going.

"Pieces of one person must be collected and used in the  _stroh_ , including the heart. The prayer is said, and the dark god hears."

I felt another shiver, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

"But there have been five murders," Wuunferth continued, "so unless five  _strohen_  were performed, that is not what is happening. There is… another possibility…."

I squirmed in my chair.

" _Strovodinok_."

I blinked. "What?"

"It's an old word in the old language…. It means magic one does with the dead."

Necromancy.  _Oh, no. No, no… no. No._ "I…," I had to remember to breath. "I don't like to think what that maybe means…."

"Indeed."

"There is no magic in my world…. No… none of this. It is a scary story. No…. I can't…." I shook my head continually until Wuunferth snapped his fingers to get my attention. I looked at him in silent refusal to believe what I was hearing.

" _Strovodinok_ was outlawed by the College, but that never stopped outlaw mages from learning the  _strohen_. The dead rise, do the  _bithig_  of the  _strovodinoke_. But…." Wuunferth stroked his beard.

"But?"

The old mage sighed. "I don't know enough about the practice itself to really know if what is happening here is indeed  _strovodinok_."

I squirmed again, and hugged my body with my arms. "Can I sleep in here tonight? The other room…. It doesn't lock. I don't think I will sleep well there. Too… scared."

"Hmm? Oh, I suppose." Wuunferth stood and looked around while scratching his unhooded head. "If you can sleep on the floor, that is. But the palace is the safest place in Windhelm."

"It… it doesn't matter. I know I will not sleep. I will bring the bed cushion…. Thank you, Wuunferth."

"Sure, sure," he muttered.

That evening at dinner, I wanted to ask someone there about the murders, but as always the men's conversations were about the ongoing war. I wasn't sure who to talk to about it, but the only one among them that gave me even a moment's notice was Yrsarald. I sat some distance from the group of men, eating in silence. I didn't know any of the other men and women sitting closer to me. Wuunferth always took his meals in his room, but I was more fond of at least pretending to socialize.

When the evening came to a close and most people left the banquet table, I quickly finished my wine and dessert and followed the rest upstairs, purposefully going up last. The upper hallway was long. On one far end was Wuunferth's quarters, and on the other end, the Jarl's quarters. I hadn't ever bothered to go in the direction of the Jarl's quarters, seeming as how I never had a reason to. Tonight, however, I watched as the men retired to their separate bedrooms. The Jarl ascended more stairs, disappearing around a bend, and Galmar and Yrsarald slept on either side of the hallway closest to the end. As I walked toward Yrsarald's room, I briefly wondered why I never saw any of the three men with women. I thought perhaps soldiers around here took their jobs too seriously and avoided having relationships, or even relations.  _Maybe that's one reason Stenvar got kicked out of the army_ , I thought.

With a single knuckle I quietly knocked on Yrsarald's door, slowly repeating the pattern for "shave and a haircut", which of course meant nothing here. The door opened to reveal a confused mountainous man, whose slack-jawed expression slowly changed to one of delight. "Hello, Deborah. What can I do for you?"

"Ehh, I, umm…. I have heard about the killings."

Yrsarald's smile disappeared. He stepped away from the door, and motioned for me to come in. I did, and he closed the door behind him. "Please, sit," he said, indicating a chair by the fire.

"You have a nice bedroom," I said, noticing how it made the multiple-bed guest room I was staying in look like a roach motel.

"Thank you. You are sleeping in a guest bed?"

I wondered how he knew that, but it didn't matter. "Yes. Though, tonight I sleep in Wuunferth's quarters. I may sleep there for a short time."

Yrsarald sat down on a chair facing me. One of his eyebrows rose with his question. "With Wuunferth?"

"With? No, no. I will put my bed cushion there. I am… scared. I saw the body of the killed woman. His door locks…."

"Ah, I see." His body relaxed, and he reclined against the back of the chair that his huge body dwarfed. "So, why speak to me? It is Jorleif who is handling this."

"Is he? Oh…. I didn't know. Where does he sleep?"

"In another room. But, you are here, so, what did you want to know?"

"What is done?"

"Done about what?"

"The killing of women. What is done?"

Yrsarald scratched his thick, light red-brown goatee. "The guards are  _yfirhirig_  about the killings _._ "

"They are what?"

" _Yfirhirig_."

My face and ears were suddenly burning. I felt like I was about to cry for some reason. I just smiled wearily, completely embarrassed, and shook my head. "I do not know that word."

A sympathetic smile formed on the man's face, spreading his goatee. The fire made his crystal blue eyes sparkle. "I noticed you… lack the knowledge of our language. When you first came here, you mentioned you were not from here. Where are you from?"

 _From? From?_  I thought _. I'm from a place that doesn't have any fucking necromancers, that's where I'm from._  I buried my face behind my hands and whined, but soon dropped my hands to my lap and looked again at Yrsarald. My lips pursed while I contemplated what to say.

"You tell me what you know about the killings," I said, "and I tell you about me. Deal?"

The enormous soldier grinned and chuckled as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Alright. Ah, I apologize, I should not be laughing." He cleared his throat and shifted his position somewhat, leaning forward and donning a more serious expression. "The guards have been  _yfirh-_ , ehh, asking people what they have seen, heard, or know about the killings. One man says he saw the killer, a man, run away from Susanna after he tore her apart. But that is everything."

"Everything? That is everything? One person saw?" I sighed. "What did he see? Did he say about the look of the killer? Tall? Short? Clothing?"

_Hello, my name is Deb, and I am an imposter detective._

Yrsarald slowly shook his head. "The man was normal height. Cloaked in black. That is everything."

I sunk back into my chair. The clues were useless. "What are the guards doing to make the city safe?"

"More guards, in more places, more of the time. Women are told to not walk out at night, or if they do, to take a man with them, or go in groups."

 _Not much else they could do,_ I thought. "That is everything? Truly?"

Yrsarald nodded. "Truly. Now, who are you, Deborah, and where are you from?" His smile returned.

I sighed, and then recited my tale slowly, fumbling over words. "I am from another world. I don't know why I am here, or how I came here. I fell into a cave, but the portal is now closed. I lived with outlaws against my wishes for months. I was almost killed at Helgen. Now, I am here, learning about this world and the language, yet."

"Still."

"Still. Learning, still." I sighed, again.

"Well, that explains a lot." He smiled.

"Indeed." I looked away from him, at the fire. "Yrsarald…."

"EHR sah rald…."

I turned back to him. "EHR sah rald," I repeated.

"Better," he smiled. "You appear to be doing well for someone not of our world."

Trolls. Dragons. Giant spiders. Necromancers. "No," I looked away again, "truly, I am not. I am scared all the time."

"Did the gods send for you?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. I doubt it."

"I will bet that they did."

I looked down at my hands that sat on my lap. "Yrsarald," I said as he had taught me, with less "ear" and more "air", "is there anything I can do to help the… questioning of people? I have some experience from my world with finding outlaws."  _Lies_.

"Speak with Jorleif in the morning. He might be cautious, but he will welcome the help, I'm sure."

My mouth twitched into an almost-smile. "Thank you. I will. Goodnight, Yrsarald." I made to stand, but the man's voice stopped me.

"Wait. It is not very late in the evening. We could speak more, if you like."

I looked away from his crystal blue eyes and stood. "No, thank you. I am tired." I headed for the door.

Yrsarald stood and followed me. "Another day, then."

I turned to the enormous man and forced a smile. "Another day." I headed toward the room where I had been sleeping, grabbed the lightweight mattress, and dragged it the short distance to Wuunferth's room. A guard looked at me questioningly, but I ignored her.

Wuunferth was already asleep. I quietly tucked chairs away and made room for my makeshift bed. I grabbed my knapsack and pulled out the letters from Stenvar to other women that I had stolen from Susanna's room. There were four.

The first was to Susanna. It was about leaving money for her at the front desk.

The second was also to Susanna. It was about the mead having a funny taste.

The third was to Elda. He complained that once again they did not have any venison and that he was sick of something he called  _hjorem_.

The fourth was to someone named Luaffyn. He thanked her for the wonderful evening.

I frowned when I read the fourth letter, but the note could have meant anything. It didn't matter, anyway, since Stenvar and I weren't anything. We just fucked. A lot. And kissed. A lot.

That's all.

After finishing my nightly routine down the hall, I fluffed my sorry excuse for a pillow and cuddled into my bedsheet, not bothering to change out of my old mage's robe. The one Stenvar sent me was still folded on a shelf. I wasn't sure I wanted to wear it.

I lay on the mattress wondering where Stenvar was at that moment. I wondered why he had left Windhelm almost exactly when Susanna was murdered. I wondered who Luaffyn was and what she had done for Stenvar to thank her, and when she had done it. I wondered where this note was that Stenvar had given Susanna to give to me. I wondered when I would see Stenvar again.

Invading my thoughts of Stenvar were thoughts of zombies, ghosts and mind-controlled vampires.

I pushed those thoughts away with memories of my time in peaceful Riverwood, talking and fishing and learning the language with Ralof.

I awoke sometime in the night from a horrible dream. I was being chased down by some grotesque creature that was part beast and part man. It yelled for me, snarled for me, threw things at me to try and knock me down. I tried hiding but it was no good. I woke up just before it found me.

That's when a frantic knock came at Wuunferth's door. I stood, grabbed a candle from a table, and held it up to the sliding peek-hole. It was a guard.

"Something wrong?" I mumbled, half-awake.

"Open up, immediately," an angry female guard ordered.

"Why?"

"Open the door, or we will."

I slid the lock from its closed position and opened the door for the guard. Jorleif, the Jarl's chamberlain, was with the guard. He gave me an odd look while he and the guard entered.

"Wuunferth! Wake up," the guard ordered, prodding the mage's side with the butt of her axe.

"W-What? What is going on?" He looked over at me. "Deborah?"

"I don't know," I answered.

"Wuunferth," Jorleif began, "we're hand-taking you for the murders of Susanna, Friga, Helda, Disa and Asvi."

"What? Wait," I protested. This was not right.

"Restrain him," Jorleif ordered the guard. Wuunferth protested as best he could as the guard locked irons around the mage's wrists behind his back. Jorleif then turned to me. "And you. Helgird told me about your nosing around. I don't know how you survived the night, locked behind this door with The Butcher, but believe me, we'll find out. Guard?"

The guard walked up to me, iron shackles ready to bind my wrists. "No! What are you doing!?" This was not happening.

"Let her go, you  _hinsken_!" Wuunferth yelled. "She's not who you want!  _I'm_  not who you want!"

"Save it for the  _dom_ , old man," the guard snapped at him and she finished binding my arms behind my back.

I looked over, terrified, at Wuunferth. He looked disgusted, and angry. "You have all lost your heads! I have been trying to  _find_  the killer! Deborah has offered to help!"

"We found your necklace in the house you used to for your butchering, Wuunferth. It's over." Jorleif spit at the wooden floor and nodded at the guard.

"Where are they taking us?" I asked Wuunferth.

"The dungeons," the old mage grumbled.


	25. Piece of Cake, Piece of Pie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOPH. This chapter took a while to write. Officially my longest chapter ever to date in anything I've written. I hope all the dialogue doesn't bore anybody.
> 
> 10 points to the first person to guess correctly what (awesome) movie the title of this chapter comes from. Now I want to go watch that movie. Because it's awesome.

 

In my dungeon cell under the palace at Windhelm, I was just barely falling asleep when I felt something scurry over my head. It was squeaking softly. Voicing my disgust, I bolted upright and franticly brushed my face, hair, shoulders, and then the rest of my body.

"Everything alright?" I heard Wuunferth ask from an adjacent cell. We were separated by a stone wall, but the fronts of the cells were iron bars, so we could hear one another just fine.

"Yes. There was a…," a rat, I figured, "…thing. Small animal. Like a big mouse. I don't know your word."

" _Rott_ ," Wuunferth mumbled the word.

" _Rott_ ," I repeated, and then added, "I have to urinate."

"Look behind you."

I did what Wuunferth said and just barely made out the glint of a metal grid-covered drain. "Ugh," I grumbled. I hated peeing over anything that didn't have a seat. I was never the most outdoorsy person – even my archaeology digs had port-a-johns. I was just glad that my hands were untied.

I had never been in a cell before. The only trouble I'd ever gotten into were a few speeding tickets. As I squatted, I realized that if any guards were in the immediate area they would have seen everything as I did my business. Lovely. Memories of Thrynn watching me pee came back all-too-vividly.

When I finished, I sat back down on my musty bedroll. "I suppose you are not sleeping, then?" I asked Wuunferth.

"No, no…," was all he said.

"Still thinking of the  _strov-, strovar…."_

" _Strovodinok_ , yes. It fits the pattern. If I just knew what the  _strovodinoke_  was attempting to do then I would know what to look for…. And the necklace…. A  _taufra,_ perhaps? Necklace…."

I saw Wuunferth in my mind's eye shaking his head, muttering to himself and pacing back and forth. "There is nothing to do tonight, Wuunferth. Jorleif will be here in the morning, we can yell at him more then. Do not worry, I have a plan."

"Plan? What plan?"

"I told you, Wuunferth. I have experience in murder things. I will make them see you are not the killer."

"Oh, no my dear, I am not worried about that. The Butcher will kill again, and likely soon. I, and you, will be here, and then they will have to release us. I suppose here is the safest place to be right now – especially for you. I  _am_ worried about the guards thinking they can relax, and another young woman will die because of their  _hinskar_."

I sat in silence for a while. "What is  _hinskar_?"

" _Hinskar_  is the guards thinking I am the Butcher, and that you had something to do with it. Considering the murders have been occurring for months and you've been here for mere weeks, they're being pure  _hinsken_. Absolute  _hinsken_. Ulfric should send the lot of them out to The  _Foll_  for  _vakten_.  _Hinskar!"_

 _I'll just go ahead and consider that word to mean "idiot"_ , I thought. "I am going to try to sleep. If you are going to stay awake, please think quietly," I said before curling into a ball on my bedroll. I hoped no more rats would come sniffing around my head.

* * *

 

"You have  _got_ to be fucking  _brandig_!"

It must have been early morning when I heard a man spit out angry words from somewhere nearby. I quickly slipped on my linen ladybriefs after peeing over the drain and re-wrapped my mage's robe around my body. A quick succession of thudding drew nearer and I knew someone was running toward the dungeons. I hoped it was Ulfric coming to yell at the guards for arresting his court mage, but I was wrong.

"Yrsarald?" I called out to the man who came running toward my cell. He was panting, and wincing in pain.

"Deborah, I came as soon as I heard. I didn't want to believe it." Yrsarald grunted when he bent down to rub his left knee; the joint was apparently the source of his discomfort.

"You didn't have to come, Yrsarald." I approached the cell door and gripped the iron bars. "Wuunferth and I are alright. We are more worried for the women who will be killed next. You have to tell the guards to keep looking, or someone else might die. That is more important."

"Oh, shut up," Jorleif snapped as he entered the room. "We found your journal, mage. What in Oblivion are you writing in here?" He was waving my journal at me. "Daedric spells?  _Bulven_? A  _dulma_  to hide your secrets!?"

"It is to learn!" I hollered. Wuunferth was right – idiots. "It is enchanting notes and lists of words. Some of my thoughts. That is all!"

Jorleif flipped through the pages. "Drunk. Potion. Tonic. Feast. Spiced." Flip, flip. "Adventuring. Treasure. Tent. Mare." Flip, flip. "Fuck. Fucking. Nuts. Damn." He continued reading my list of naughty vocabulary words in silence, until he arrived at the most recent entry and looked up at me. "Cock?"

My face and ears were on fire. "I told you – to learn the words. Remember. Study."

"You're studying 'cock'?" Jorleif's eyebrow arched. He looked down at the list again. "'Asshole'?"

I looked briefly over to Yrsarald, who may have been blushing more than I was. I looked back at Jorleif. "I write everything down. To learn. So, now, I can say you are being a fucking shit-head asshole right now because you read my personal journal to everyone!"

Wuunferth snorted, and then sputtered in a fit of not-quite stifled laughter.

Jorleif grimaced, and continued to read my notes. "What language is this?"

"My language," I answered.

"Yes, but which? I don't recognize the  _stefrufit._ "

"That's because it is Deborah's  _stefrufit_ , idiot," Wuunferth chimed in. "You're not listening."

"She's not from this world," Yrsarald added.

Jorleif laughed. "Another world? Of course. And  _I_  am a  _methlim_  of Shor." He turned to Yrsarald. "And how would you know that anyway,  _rathgif_? I'm beginning to wonder just how  _oludra_  you are with her."

"I am perfectly  _oludra_ ,  _steward_ ," Yrsarald stepped up to Jorleif, towering over him, dragging out the word for the man's title as if it were an insult. He grabbed the journal to have a look for himself. I couldn't watch him read my list of naughty words. I backed away from the bars, lowered my gaze and commenced pacing back and forth nervously. "She is also studying dates. And names of animals." I heard him close the journal. "She tells the truth, Jorleif. You know she does." I turned back around to see him hand the journal back to the steward. "She came to me last night asking to  _help_ us."

Jorleif scoffed. "How can a mage possibly help us?"

"The same way that  _I_ have been trying to help, idiot." Wuunferth nearly growled. He was getting angry again.

"Let her out, Jorleif." Yrsarald's tone was growing more irritated, which made his thick accent stand out even more. "She hasn't even been here for that long. You know she is not The Butcher,  _ne_  helping him."

"Let her out," a deep voice vibrated from the doorway. I looked up to see Ulfric leaning against the doorframe, a foot pressed against the wood to steady himself. He did not look happy. He had been listening. With a foot he pushed his body upright and walked forward to my cell. He grabbed the journal from Jorleif and examined the contents for himself. His expression never shifted from a slight frown. He then slammed the journal shut and rebound the closure with the thin leather thong. "I  _said_ ," he turned to Jorleif, "let her out."

Jorleif appeared as if he was holding back some unkind words, but he did as he was told and sorted through his jumble of keys. Ulfric then turned to Yrsarald and handed him the journal. "Watch her. Guard her. Help her. Galmar is here anyway, he can take over your  _nothen_  until this mess is taken care of."

"And what about Wuunferth?" I asked as I exited my opened cell door. I had no idea if I could approach Ulfric so casually, but he did know who I was, sort of, having almost lost my head alongside him not too long ago.

Ulfric the Lion-Man turned to me, his expression as steady as a poker champion's. His presence was incredibly commanding, and I wasn't at all surprised that he was a kind of local ruler, aiming to be king of the entire country. I felt the Jarl's gaze lay heavy on me, and I fidgeted uncomfortably until he spoke.

"Wuunferth will have his  _dom_. I'm not one to so quickly condemn someone I've known for my entire life. But, for now, the old mage stays here." Ulfric walked past me toward Wuunferth's cell.

"Don't worry about me, Deborah. Do what you need to do. I will be fine." Wuunferth was sitting cross-legged on his bedroll, hood up and hands tucked into his sleeves.

"I'll have a nice breakfast brought down," Ulfric said to the old mage. "Personally," he added, "by Jorleif."

I thought I saw the corner of Wuunferth's mouth turn up in a smirk.

Ulfric suddenly turned and made for the dungeon exit, but as he approached me he grasped my upper arm and pulled me close to him. He pressed his lips to my ear and spoke under his breath. "When this is through," he said, "you will tell me about this 'other world'  _efin_." The Jarl loosened his grip on me just as abruptly and continued toward the exit. "Don't bother me again with this until you have something more solid," he said to everyone within earshot as he stormed up the steps with Jorleif trotting behind him.

I turned to Yrsarald. We exchanged somewhat stunned looks before he handed me my journal. "So," I said, "you are to guard me."

He gave a little shrug. "Those were my orders, yes."

"Against who – myself, or the real killer?"

Yrsarald sighed. "Both, I suppose. Come on, you can go wash, and then we'll go eat." I felt the man's huge hand pressing against my lower back, urging me forward. He turned to Wuunferth's cell as we walked away. "I'm sorry, Wuunferth. We will get you out soon."

The old mage grumbled something incoherently and continuously until we walked too far to hear him.

I may have been temporarily biased, but I thought that the bath I took that morning was the best bath I had ever taken in my entire life. Just being in that cell made me feel completely filthy and violated, and I scrubbed the memories away.

I had chucked my now-disgusting bra and old mage's robe in a waste basket and brought with me to the bathing room a fresh pair of underwear, a chest binding, and the mage's robes that Stenvar sent me. Once I was clean and dry, I figured out how to fashion the linen chest binding in a way that actually supported my bountiful bosom. Instead of binding it horizontally across my chest as Siv had done with her tennis-ball-sized breasts, I wrapped the long piece of fabric in a crisscross fashion over my upper body and then across my upper torso, like an underlined X. Since the fabric spread over my shoulders, it would have looked bad with any clothing other than my mage's robe, but since that's what I usually wore, I didn't care.

Breakfast was uncomfortably silent. Ulfric and Galmar were absent, as was Jorleif, and I still didn't know anyone else there but Yrsarald. Though I didn't know them, the other men and women present had obviously heard about me and what happened. I tried to ignore their questioning stares.

Out of nowhere, I heard a growl next to me. Yrsarald thrust himself from the bench and began to pile various fruits and cheeses and pastries onto a platter. He lifted the arrangement from the table and turned toward the steps that led upstairs. I was confused, but figured I should follow my guardian. I grabbed a pitcher that was filled with honey water and walked briskly after Yrsarald. When we reached his bedroom door, he ordered me to open it.

He walked in, set the platter down on his bed, sat next to it, grabbed a pastry, and devoured it. I stood at the foot of the bed with the pitcher and watched as the pastry disappeared. The sweet, fluffy thing never stood a chance, nor did the second one that he shoved into his mouth. Remains of the delicacies were left dotting his goatee.

Breaking out of my trance, I shook my head and walked over to the night table next to the man to put the pitcher down. When I turned back to Yrsarald, he had begun to work on a pie. A whole pie. With his hands.

"Are you eating your feelings?" I asked, unable to avoid being amused by the sight of a gigantic, heavily-muscled man devouring pastries like I usually did about once a month. Yrsarald looked up from the red-berry pie which had stained his red-brown goatee a deeper red. "You look like a bear eating a piece of bloody deer." I smiled.

I didn't mean to shame Yrsarald, but he must have felt that way. He put the pie back down on the platter, stood and walked over to a washbasin, and cleaned his face. He leaned on the tall basin for a moment, obviously tense and having a lot of internal conflicts about something.

Feeling bad about unintentionally teasing Yrsarald, I sat on the bed, reached for the other pie – one made with a deep purple berry – and chowed down. "Mmm," I said with a very full mouth, "very good." I barely chewed the first bite before taking another. I wasn't sure why Yrsarald was upset, but I was a champion at eating my feelings, and I had a lot of anger to deal with at the moment. When I heard the man laugh, I looked up at him from my pie, but I didn't stop eating. Purple berry juice dripped down my wrist. I stopped it with my tongue and gave it a lick. I put what was left of the pie back down on the platter to lick the rest of my fingers and hands. I didn't know what the berry was, but it was delicious, something akin to a mix of blueberries and grapes.

Yrsarald laughed again before saying, "Go wash before you get  _jazbay_  all over my bed."

I giggled, and complied. There was a bar of sweet-smelling soap by the washbasin which removed the sticky mess easily. When I returned to the bed, I stared down at the feast before sitting again. "Do you have plates?"

Yrsarald walked over to a cabinet where I saw many plates and cups stacked. He grabbed two plates, two cups and two forks, then handed me one of each. We both placed our partially-demolished pies onto plates and continued to feed ourselves in a more human fashion. We were eating a whole pie each, and neither of us cared. It was kind of beautiful.

"I am sorry that I said those words," I said as I forked apart another piece of pie.

"No, it was the truth. I eat to stay calm."

"Calm? Why do you need to be calm? You were not urinating over a hole behind bars." I immediately regretted talking about urination. He wasn't an archaeologist – we tended to have tougher stomachs when it came to conversation topics while eating. Bones, mummies, millennia-old scat, whatever.

Yrsarald was silent for a minute or so, evidently considering his words. "I anger easily," was all he said before munching down on more pie.

"How do you not become round by eating so much?"

"There is a training room near the dungeons that I use. But I just don't put on the  _vegen_ easily."

" _Vegen…_." I assumed it meant weight. "You are lucky." I stared down at my almost-gone pie and frowned. "I am sorry you are made to guard me." I stabbed a purple berry with my fork and stared at it. "You have better things to do, I suppose."

"That's not why I'm angry, Deborah. I don't mind looking after you." Yrsarald dropped his fork onto his now-empty plate. "I'm angry because too many have died, and I am certain Wuunferth is not The Butcher. Jorleif is an idiot." He looked up at me from across the bed. "What are you going to do now?"

I shifted my gaze back to my pie and ate it while thinking. After the last crumb and berry was scraped into my mouth, I pushed the purple-smeared silver plate away from me and reclined on the back of Yrsarald's bed. "I am going to make everyone see that Wuunferth is not the killer."

"But how?" He walked over to the pitcher of honey water, poured us both a glass, and then joined me in reclining. We both had a lot to digest, in more ways than one.

"I need to speak to Jorleif," I said. "I need to see why he thinks Wuunferth killed the women. What happened last night? What changed?"

"I only heard about it this morning. A guard received a  _vanefna_  note about seeing blood outside of a house. They found journals and… parts of bodies in a  _fala_  room and in the cellar. The parts in the cellar were frozen, inside a cut into the earth and packed with snow. They also found a strange-looking necklace with a skull on it."

"Frozen body parts?" I asked. Yrsarald nodded, looking as horrified as I felt. I gulped, fighting the reappearance of my pie. "What parts?"

"What parts? Of a body?" he asked. I nodded. "I don't know. Does it matter?"

"It might matter."

Yrsarald, who had somewhat naturally tawny skin, looked like he was turning pale. "Everything is still in the house. If you want to see it, you need to speak with Jorleif."

I sighed. "I don't want to see, Yrsarald, but Wuunferth said a thing like that might be important to know. So, I will see."

"Just don't expect me to look, too."

"I will take my journal. Make notes. Any one thing might be important later." I scooted off the bed, picked up the platter of food, and placed it on Yrsarald's desk, then did the same with our plates. When I turned around, Yrsarald looked like he wanted to punch someone. "Are you… still angry? Do you want more food first?" The man could probably eat ten Big Macs and still have room for dessert.

Yrsarald stood, grabbed a chunk of cheese and shoved it into his mouth. He then reached for his fur cloak and threw it over his arm while chewing. "I'll always want more food," he eventually said. "Go on and get your cloak. We'll go see Jorleif and then go to the house."

* * *

 

"What do you mean the necklace has gone missing?" Yrsarald snarled at Jorleif.

"It was here, and now it isn't. That is what I mean. Funny that  _this one_ ," the steward said, indicating me, "gets let out at the same time, hmm?"

"She was with me all morning, Jorleif." Yrsarald was getting angry again. I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "I stood outside the bathing room as she washed. She did not take the necklace."

"Have you asked Wuunferth?" I asked in my best sarcastic tone. "Maybe he magic'd himself out of the cell and to down here. Made himself a snake and went out of the bars and all the way with no one seeing." I walked toward the chest Jorleif had opened. Two leather-bound journals were inside. I reached forward to grab them but Jorleif caught my wrist.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"I am helping, Jorleif," I snapped. "Take your hand off me."

The steward refused, and Yrsarald had had enough of the man's insolence. I could tell my guardian wanted to pummel the tiny steward, but instead, Yrsarald grabbed Jorleif on each upper arm, picked him up and away from me, and replaced him to the side. With one finger wagging at the confused and slightly shaken steward, Yrsarald ordered him, "Stay… there…," and then nodded at me to continue.

I reached into the chest and retrieved the journals. Both were stained with blood. I wished hard for some surgical gloves. I opened the first journal and slowly read the contents. "This is a list. I don't know these words."

"Body parts," Jorleif said.

I continued reading. "What is an… ice…mind?"

"Who knows? Some damned elven thing," Jorleif grumbled.

I opened the second journal and stopped reading when I recognized a word. "The words read about Susanna." I showed Yrsarald the text.

He read the entire journal. The letters of this language were written quite large, so one sentence might take up about half a page of an average-sized book. I knew from experience now that writing with a quill was not at all as easy as with a ball-point pen, and it was indeed more difficult to write small letters without risking creating a series of black splotches. While the books I've read in this land tended to be somewhat thick, their contents are relatively short.

When Yrsarald finished reading, he looked at me with a look of dread sprawled across his face.

"What?" I asked him.

"It reads like Wuunferth talks," my guardian said.

"What? What do you mean?"

"That's what we thought," Jorleif puffed his chest with pride.

"The Butcher calls everyone idiots and fools. Whoever this is spent time in Winterhold… practiced magic." Yrsarald turned the book to me and pointed out what he was referring to. He was right – whoever wrote this held a sort of contempt for other people, and Wuunferth did indeed call many people idiots.

I began to feel my heart sink into my stomach until I remembered something. My eyes shot up at Yrsarald, and then over to Jorleif. "The note."

"Note?" Jorleif asked.

"The one about the house," I confirmed.

"In the chest," the steward said.

I reached in and grabbed the small piece of paper. On a nearby table I laid open one of the journals and opened the note, examining a page of the journal and the note side-by-side. I was anything but positive about my conclusion since it was like trying to decide if two oranges could be easily differentiated, but the two samples of writing looked exactly the same.

"They are the same," I said. "The writing. The same person wrote them."

"Most people write in the same way, Deborah," Yrsarald explained in a grim tone.

"So, show me something you wrote," I said to him, and then turned to Jorleif. "You too. Any letter. And something from Wuunferth's room. We can see. See if they are all the same, or all different."

"What are you getting at?" Jorleif planted his hands on his waist, begging an explanation.

I opened my journal to show Jorleif my Norren scribbles. "I do not write like this person. See?" I held up the short note. "Not the same. I learned to write from a friend, and from old books. I might write the same as my friend or as the old books. But this, this writing is different." I glared at Jorleif. "You do not see the little things."

I could see the pride melt away from Jorleif's very soul. "Fine. We'll go get something from Wuunferth's room. And Yrsarald and I will give you a letter. Whatever. I still don't see the  _mark_ , though."

"Just go get the writings. We will see," I said.

Sure enough, there were subtle differences in everyone's style of writing. My writing was blocky and stiff, because I was slow and careful. Jorleif's was messy when writing quick notes, and neat and precise when writing important letters. Yrsarald's was sharp and quick, with several mistakes as Jorleif happily pointed out. Wuunferth's writing was shaky lately, possibly an indication of his age. The mage's earlier writings, found in old journals in his room, were graceful and almost feather-like in their calligraphic delicacy. The writing of the killer had more in common with Jorleif's than any of the others, changing from messy to neat even mid-sentence.

Several other minor differences stood out, such as the way letters slanted, or if lines of a letter sloped up or down towards the right side of the page. Even the shapes of the letters had tiny variations from person to person, such as the letter for the sound "th", which had no resemblance to the Nordic rune from my own world. Instead of looking like a triangular flag at half-staff, the Norren letter looked more like a lightning bolt, or an awkward, backwards Sigma. Some people wrote the letter consistently with a long tail at the bottom, and others, no tail at all. I wrote mine with a tail, which apparently was an older way of writing it, as made evident by the books I'd been learning from.

I felt some relief in realizing that Stenvar was most likely  _not_  the killer. I felt one less worry pinch at the nerves of my aching, tense shoulders. I would have to examine his letter to me to be sure, but from memory his writing was very messy, even more so than Jorleif's scribbles and Wuunferth's shaky penmanship.

"If you see the way everything is written," I finished explaining as best I could, "the writing of the killer is the most different from any of the others," I concluded. "We all, and Wuunferth, have almost the same way of writing, but the journals and note are both very different from our writing. I am sure they were wrote by the same person."

"Written," Yrsarald said.

"What?" I asked.

"Were written. Not 'wrote'." He smiled knowingly.

"Oh," I cleared my throat. "Thank you."

"So, you're saying the killer is not like the rest of us in some way," Jorleif said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes, exactly," I confirmed.

"Perhaps… the killer  _olstup_  somewhere different from us, learned to write differently," Jorleif continued.

"A different city, maybe," I offered.

"What about another  _world_?" Jorleif suggested, stressing the last word.

My lip twitched with annoyance, threatening to rise into a sneer. "I already showed you I write like either one of you, more. And of course my writing would be different, I am learning it still. I can barely  _read_."

"Enough, Jorleif," Yrsarald growled. "Deborah is not the killer, move on."

"I'm merely  _bendig_  out the fact that  _you_ , Deborah," Jorleif jabbed a finger hard into my shoulder, "were  _olstup_  somewhere other than Skyrim."

"Yes, that is obvious…," I closed my eyes momentarily in utter frustration. "Can you please tell me who else in Windhelm was… came from somewhere else? Learned to write somewhere else? Maybe not Sky-Rim?"

"Elves, for one," Jorleif began. "They all came from Morning-Wind."

" _Harsten_ and Imperials, too," Yrsarald added. "Don't  _hop_  to the elves so quickly, Jorleif."

"Yes, yes," Jorleif scratched his chin. "I don't think we have any  _Rathgaeten_  in the city, but I can check. And of course there are the Argonians."

"The Argonians don't enter the city," said Yrsarald.

"We haven't caught The Butcher yet; the killer is an  _ahkropa_   _garn_. Argonians are nothing but little  _ahkropen_."

Yrsarald groaned and planted his face into his large palms.

I cleared my throat. "Jorleif, perhaps it is time to search the homes of the people. You have the journals and the note – go and find a letter with the same writing. Start with people not from here. You know the killer is a mage, so look for a mage."

"Wuunferth… and  _you…_  are the only mages in all of Windhelm," Jorleif said.

"That we know of," corrected Yrsarald.

And then it hit me like a baseball bat to the head. "Match lists of names," I said.

"What?" asked Jorleif.

"Match lists of names. From here, from the college in Winterhold! The journal reads something about the college – the killer went to the college! They keep lists of people who go there, yes?"

"Of  _course_  they do," Jorleif answered, "but how can we be sure the killer didn't change his or her name?" Jorleif made a good point.

"And maybe they did not change the name," I retorted. "Match the lists." I began to pace back and forth, running my mind over any other ways to identify a mage. "What do mages use?" I asked the men.

"Use?" The two men exchanged glances.

"What maybe they buy?" I specified. "Things that maybe no one else buys?"

"Ehh, aren't you a mage? Don't you know?" Yrsarald gave me a shrug.

"I'm… new." That was the understatement of the entirety of all time, ever. "Maybe potions… Wuunferth used and made potions, but he is not like most mages. He is also a… ehh, person who makes potions."

" _Folhete_ ," Yrsarald said.

"Sure…," I had no idea.

"What sort of potions does a mage use?" asked Jorleif.

I shrugged. "Ones that help with magic. But I don't think the killer is that much idiot to buy potions. Too obvious."

"True. He also would have changed his name, too, I say," Jorleif said.

"Write a letter to Savos Aren," Yrsarald ordered Jorleif, "get a list of anyone who  _sottekt_ the College in the past… thirty years. While we wait for a response, Deborah and I will go to the various houses in the city. But first, we need to go see the mess at  _Hjerim_." Yrsarald then turned to me. "Come, Deborah, you can  _skata_  the murder  _sith_."

* * *

 

Frozen bones. Frozen bones in an ice box dug into the cellar of the house where the murderer carved up the bodies of five women. I wrote down everything I saw, in English, in my journal. I wished for a pen or pencil – dipping my quill into the inkpot every few minutes was annoying.

While Yrsarald looked around the abandoned house, I muttered to myself in English as I examined the remains. "Two pelvic girdles…." I tried not to gag as I picked up the pieces of people for a closer look. The pubic arch was fairly wide, as was the sciatic notch. "Probably female." Next pelvis. Both features very wide. "Very female." The bones still had a considerable amount of muscle attached to them, and I was not happy about it. I was just thankful the bits of people were frozen. Although preventing easy inspection of the bones, it prevented any further gagging due to decomposition. The smell of ripe protein was stuck in my memory from my expansive anthropological education, and I did not wish to rejuvenate that particular olfactive experience.

"One right femur, two left. One right tibia, three left." In the ice box were also organs, tendons, and even jumbles of nerves and veins. Yippee. "Two hearts, one liver, two kidneys but I don't know which side…." I had to look away while I gagged a little. Breathe, breathe. Alright, go. "Two lungs, attached. One stomach and all intestines… attached." Turn, vomit, breathe, breathe. Alright, go again. "One pair of feet, probably from the same person." Organs, organs and more organs. I didn't know what every organ looked like. And then I saw it, under piles of more pinkish-grey organs – folded skin.

Stand, turn, vomit again.

Breathe, breathe. Think. Switch to Norren.

"Yrsarald?" I called out, still somewhat choked-up.

"Hmm?" I heard him approach.

"Were all the women… in pieces? Like Susanna?"

"Yes, even more so."

"More?"

"Yes. The first two women were found with barely anything but their clothes to  _thek_  them. Not even a head."

I turned in surprise to Yrsarald. "No head?"

He shook his own head side to side.

"I need… need…." I ran up the stairs and out of the house into the frigid, snow-filled air. Yrsarald followed.

"Are you alright? I imagine not. I don't know why you wanted to look at that." Yrsarald placed a hand on my shoulder as I leaned on the iron fence surrounding the house. I dry-heaved into the frost-covered bushes.

"I told you," I said as I caught my breath. "Need to see. Tell Wuunferth. I write down everything I see."

"Alright, alright." His hand lifted from my shoulder. "Have you seen enough yet, though? I hate being in there."

"No, not yet." I swiped some fresh snow from the ground to wash out my mouth, and then turned to Yrsarald. "Did you find anything? Upstairs?"

"No, nothing. It really is empty except for the one room and the cellar."

I steeled myself to go back inside. "I will see again the one room," I said before re-entering the house. I headed to the hidden room where rituals apparently took place. "Blood everywhere," I said, taking in the scene once more. "Scissors, knives, needles, sinew…." Cutting. Sewing.

Cutting. Sewing.

Body parts.

Cutting…. Sewing….

Body parts….

"Oh,  _Jesus fucking Christmas pie_ ," I blurted out in English.


	26. Gods and Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for a bumpy ride, readers, it's about to get all kinds of weird! Skyrim quests be damned, I'm going to be doing my own thing, and this whole Blood on the Ice quest will be really, really important later. So I'm glad at least most of you seem to like what I'm doing with it. If anyone gets confused by what's going on in this chapter (or others), feel free to say so, and I'll respond without spoilers as best as I can.

 

"Cutting and sewing body parts, you say?" Wuunferth ran a hand over his beard.

"All women," I added. "I think someone is making a woman."

" _Making_  a woman? What makes you think that?"

"In my world, there is a story…. A man sews body parts together to make a man. Lightning makes him alive."

"And what happened to this  _kvikind_?" Wuunferth asked.

"Oh…." I didn't really remember details about the story of Frankenstein's monster, but I knew enough. "The… made man, he… was not made to be bad, but he became angry, and killed everyone, in the end." I was probably wrong. "But… what you said about the…  _strovar…._ "

" _Strovodinok_."

Necromancy.  _Strovodinok._ Necromancy.  _Strovodinok._ "If what you say is true, what if the… necromancer… makes a dead woman to… do things? What if the dead woman is bad?" I looked down at my hands. "There are other stories…."  _Too many stories_. "Dead people become alive, and… attack. Make other people attack. More, more, more until everyone is a not-dead person. End of life."

I looked up at Wuunferth. His eyes were wide with curiosity. "You have stories of such things? I thought you said there was no magic in your world?"

"There is no magic," I confirmed, "but we have many stories of things that do not exist. It is very common. We even have stories about magic. Of dragons and elves, too. But they do not exist."

"No? Are you quite sure? How can one write about something that never existed?"

My smile was more of a grimace. "I have never seen a horse with wings, but… I can…." I suddenly felt ill. "I can think of one…." I tasted bile. "Oh…."

"Are you alright, Deborah?" Wuunferth asked.

I swallowed hard and stood from the chair I had dragged close to Wuunferth's cell. "I am…. I think I… I will…." Yep, I was going to vomit again. I searched for a bucket, any bucket, and found one. I had nothing left inside of me to give, however, and I merely dry-heaved for the better part of a minute.

Yrsarald was there again, making sure my jaw-length hair stayed out of my face. "You feel hot," Yrsarald said.

He was one to talk. Yrsarald always felt like he was running a fever. " _You_  feel… hot…," I managed to say before dry-heaving again. I could feel my eyes beginning to water and was sure I had popped at least one blood vessel in my right eye. I stumbled, and would have landed on my butt if Yrsarald hadn't caught me.

"I think she has the fever," I heard Yrsarald say.

"Bring her here," Wuunferth said. I felt the cold touch of metal, and then someone's hand, and then intense warmth.

"Hands back, mage!" a female guard shouted. She approached Wuunferth's cell. "No magic. Not while you're in here."

"I'm merely trying to  _heal_  the girl, Hrina," Wuunferth protested.

"NO MAGIC," the guard repeated. "Hamon?" She called another guard. "Escort Yrsarald and Deborah upstairs."

"It is fine, Wuunferth…. I can heal… myself," I mumbled. Suddenly I felt incredibly weak. I probably needed water.

"I will take her upstairs," Yrsarald said. I watched him as he glowered at the guards and brushed past them with his arm still around my waist. Thankfully I could still walk, and he didn't have to carry me up the entire series of steps to get to the bedrooms.

I lost consciousness in the room with the big map.

* * *

 

My eyes blinked open to a painfully bright light. Slowly, my body eased awake from what felt like an incredibly deep slumber. I sat up and realized I was in a field thick with blue flowers. Above me was a bright blue and cloudless sky, but I saw no sun. Hills surrounding the field were covered in the same blue flower, onward past the horizon in every direction. Blue birds chirped from nearby bushes which, too, were covered in blue flowers, though of a different variety from what I lay on.

" _Welcome_ ," sounded a disembodied, warm, feminine voice. In English.

" _What?_ " I asked, in English.

" _Welcome, my Champion. I am pleased we finally meet_."

" _Meet? What_?" I scrambled to my feet to look around, but saw nothing but an endless sheet of billowy blue spanning over rolling hills, an endless blue sky, and the occasional blue-flowery bush and singing bluebirds. Oh, and, blue butterflies. I watched as a butterfly flitted about until it landed on my shoulder.

 _Was I talking to a butterfly?_ I asked myself.

" _You look for me_ ," the voice spoke again. It wasn't the butterfly. " _I am sorry. If it would make you more comfortable, I can manifest a human form._ "

I stared at the horizon. " _Yes_ …?"

" _Close your eyes, Deborah_ ," the voice spoke. The voice knew my name.

I obliged.

Even through my closed eyelids, I saw and felt an explosion of light and warmth in front of me, making me see pink through the thin skin. The light faded instantly, and I slowly lifted my eyelids. Standing in front of me was a tall, lithe, thirty-something woman with long, straight dark-blonde hair and luminous sapphire eyes. Her tan skin had an orange-brown undertone, and the majority of her body was covered in a gown of what appeared to be glittering, flowing water, which in itself would be utterly confusing if I weren't already utterly confused.

It was only then that I realized I was dressed in the same clothes I was wearing on the day I fell into the cave in Norway.

" _I hope this form is pleasing to you_ ," the woman spoke. " _I pulled images from your subconscious. I am a mix of multiple people who you find pleasing._ "

" _It's… it's fine_ ," I said.

" _Please, let us sit_ ," the woman said.

I made to sit on the flowery ground, but when I looked behind me, an enormous blue daisy-like flower appeared. I turned back to the woman, confused, but she had already reclined onto a similar flower. I followed suit, and we sat in oversized blue flower seats, facing one another.

" _You have many questions for me, Deborah, but allow me to address what I already know you want answered_." The woman shifted in her flower seat and crossed her long, bare, and completely hairless legs. " _You are dreaming_ ," she began. " _We are not physically speaking your native language, but rather we are communicating through your own subconscious, and therefore you understand us to be speaking whatever it is you understand most easily. Though, 'speak' is not the correct term to use in this case, I suppose that is not an important detail._

" _We are in one of my many realms, Blue. Your mind, and my essence. I bring most mortals here for our first meeting. I think this is the most calming of them all. Do you agree?" She was gazing at me with big, hopeful, blue-gemstone eyes._

I looked around at the endless field of blue flowers and listened to the birdsong. I heard the sound of distant flowing water, and for a brief moment I thought it might have come from the woman's dress. " _Yes_ ," I agreed. " _Calm_."

" _Good, I am glad. Now, you would not know me, but I am called Meridia by mortals in our world. Not many seek my guidance or help or love these days…._ " The woman appeared, briefly, wistful. " _I believe you were made aware of the existence of my kind, and of those whom you call 'gods'. I am a Daedra. In your language, we would be considered… Chaos. I was once, however, much, much more…._ " The woman, Meridia, looked me directly in the eyes. " _What does Chaos mean to you?_ "

" _Chaos? Um…. Disorganized. Change. Variety_." I thought a moment more. " _Potential_."

" _Yes, that feels correc_ t." Meridia smiled. She appeared as though she were wearing makeup, but I wasn't quite sure she was. " _I was once_ …," she dipped her long, blue fingernails into her water-dress, which indeed was flowing around her body. The disturbance from her fingers shifted the current and briefly allowed a glimpse of her upper thigh. " _I was once part of the spark of life that helped create the land you know as Skyrim, and indeed the whole of Nirn. I am of the very essence of light, and of life. This is why you cannot look upon me in my true form. I am a daughter of Anu_ …." When the woman ran her fingers through her long hair, it appeared as if each strand was infused with light.

" _You know the Daedra to be unlike 'gods', and this is only partially true. I myself am not originally a Daedra, nor was I Aedra. Aedra, the opposite of Daedra, in your language would be considered Order, or Stasis. Anu is, himself, Stasis…. The existence of both Aedra and Daedra provide balance, without which this world would cease to exist. After getting a sense of you, I believe in your world, this would be considered the balance of 'good' and 'evil' – without one, the other cannot exist_." She paused for a moment. " _Am I making sense_?"

I nodded.

" _Good_." She folded her elegant hands in her lap. " _I will answer your other questions momentarily_." She was reading my mind. " _After Mundus – which is what you would consider the mortal plane – was created, my kin and I fled back to our world, Aetherius…. Aetherius is not quite what you think of as a 'heaven', but it is close enough. When it was discovered that I had consorted with the Daedra Azura, and had gifted her with a part of my very being only to have it stolen… I was banished from Aetherius for the remainder of Time. I did not mind, however. Azura and I were quite fond of what had been created, and were happy to oversee the life forming on the young Nirn. I created my own realms in Oblivion – the Colored Rooms, one for each color of the rainbow – and in here I reside and welcome my Champions when their time in Mundus has come to an end._

" _As I am of light and life itself, you may be able to appreciate that I cannot sit idly by when life is… corrupted… abused… unnaturally prolonged. Such abomination creates an imbalance that I nor the Aedra of Life and Death will tolerate. I need a Champion who sees life as I do, and who can appreciate and respect death. All of Mundus will soon need such a Champion._

" _Now, as for your question of why you are here, conversing with me now... Portals have been opening all over Nirn recently, and we do not yet know why. We believe someone or something is disturbing the balance between Mundus, Aetherius, and Oblivion, or perhaps disturbing Time itself. Unfortunately, we are not omniscient, except when it comes to knowing the minds of mortals, some of the time…. In any case, portals opened, briefly, around Nirn, leading to unknown lands and impossible worlds. Servants were sent on reconnaissance missions to these worlds, but only one came back having encountered intelligent life – he returned from your world. He spoke of beings that resembled the humans of Nirn and of a magnificent culture even surpassing that of the Dwemer – a species of dwarves long extinct. A culture with enormous flying metal birds and buildings as tall as this realm is wide. Tell me, does your world truly contain these things?_ "

" _Um, yes_ …." I was trying my best to follow the tale of this woman, but the vast amount of information was dizzying. " _Why_ …," I began, " _why me? Why am I here, in this world?_ "

" _Pure accident, really. A portal opened, and then you fell_."

" _I fell_ …."

" _Yes, in that cave. A portal was just behind you in the cave, at that very moment. After you fell, and died, your essence was retrieved mere moments before the portal closed_."

I stared at the woman, and blinked. " _What?_ "

" _Your essence. Your… soul. We retrieved it, manifested your body, however… somewhat broken, and brought you to life in our world, in Mundus. Azura and Arkay helped with that_." The woman's matter-of-fact expression terrified me.

" _I died!?_ " I was practically shrieking while sitting straight up, stunned, on a giant blue flower. The birdsong silenced briefly after my outburst, but carried on soon enough.

" _Yes, Deborah, you died. Your mortal body could not withstand the severing of your spinal cord when you broke your neck. I am sorry. Does it comfort you to have closure about your life on… what do you call it? Earth? Gaia? Ge?_ " I studied the expression of the woman who was undoubtedly reading my mind. " _Mundus_?" She smiled. " _Creation is seemingly… more complicated… than any one of us thought, hmm?_ "

The flitter of several beautiful blue butterflies that crossed between me and Meridia was perfectly incongruous. I had stopped looking at Meridia, and had barely registered her last words. " _You… pulled me here…. My soul? Why? Why would you bring me here and then leave me…. Leave me to be captured in a cave!? I didn't even speak the language! What about my soul back in my world!?_ "

Meridia slowly shook her head, causing the current of her water-dress to shift. " _You do not believe in life after death, though you are yet unsure…. I cannot say whether or not souls are treated in the same manner in your world as they are here, but in this world, there is absolutely life after death, and reincarnation. There are many ways to live after death… all of which depends on how you live before death._

" _Arkay sensed… something… in your world through the portals. Even he could not explain it. When consulting with Akatosh, they agreed there was some link between our worlds, an energy that was shared, which may be one reason why the portals opened. Arkay sensed something in you, possibly because you were so very near a portal…. On his suggestion we made a split-second decision to bring your essence here and manifest your body – give you a second life, as it were. The process took much energy and concentration, and I am afraid we could not do more. We are not omnipotent._

" _Some of us felt guilt about what we had done, others felt triumph. To ease your transition, Dibella whispered words in Thrynn's ear, causing him to save your life, and she caused him to mishear your name, prolonging the confusion, buying you time. She also introduced you to one of her most beloved worshippers, Stenvar. He will be your most faithful ally; keep him close. Finally, Kynareth felt immense guilt that you did not know the language of the land, so she helped you learn as quickly as she could by causing your various acquaintances to be patient with you, teach you. We are all impressed by how fluent you have become._

" _Please understand we did not act completely without prudence. Your unique energy was felt through the portal and we made our decision. We knew a Champion was coming soon… one to beat back the encroaching evil… and upon sensing you, Arkay was convinced that you were that Champion. After watching you function in our world, I agree. You are adapting very well, and you have much knowledge from your world to bring to ours_."

Tears came to my eyes as I tried to wrap my mind around the torrent of information. " _Adapting_ …," I laughed. " _I was_ raped _…. And Thrynn left me,_ pregnant _. And the dragon!"_ I glowered at the woman. _"Who was watching out for me then!?_ "

She frowned. " _Not all of us 'gods', as you see us, care about the well-being of mortals. Most see your kind as… entertainment. I suppose you would consider them 'demons'…. I learned too late of what Molag Bal had caused to happen with the bandits. There was nothing we could do. As I said, we are not omniscient, nor omnipotent. We often need help from mortals, when it comes to interacting with the mortal world…._ " The woman looked furious for a brief moment. Her hair glowed as if on fire, and her water-dress swirled like a whirlpool. " _Azura has assured me that her companion will not let further harm come to you in that manner. In exchange, Azura caused you to miscarry, and offered the soul of that child unto Molag Bal. She knew you did not want Thrynn's child. I can sense from you that she was correct in her thinking. As for the dragon.…_ " Meridia shifted uneasily on her flower, " _that is another matter altogether. The World-Eater was drawn to Helgen_ …." Her eyes shot up and her gaze locked onto mine. " _We all feel your presence, here, Deborah. Simple Fate, or someone from our world, perhaps, may have had a hand in your death, and in the portal being there at that very moment. No one will admit to causing your death, however. But, here you are, and we could not be happier. You cherish life and death as much as we do. We have big plans for you_."

" _What do you mean!? Life, death… plans_?"

Meridia sat up straight, reached forward, and grasped my hands with hers. " _You have already stepped onto the path set out for you. We believe that you and you alone have the knowledge to help us with what is happening to our world. What will happen. One of our servants saw something_ …," the woman looked past me, over my shoulder, an expression of disgust crossing her face, " _something in your world quite disturbing_." Her eyes shot back to mine. " _Something which is happening here, as well. Arkay saw your marks_ ," she stressed. " _He believes in you, and so do I. But your time in my realm is coming to a close. You must wake, Deborah. Be brave, be safe. Learn. I will contact you again_."

" _What? What do you mean? What is happening!?_ " I stood from my flower and started to approach Meridia, but a flash of light forced me to look away. When I opened my eyes, I was in a bed, staring at a stone ceiling, vision blurred.

"Deborah?" I heard a man speak my name with trepidation, as if speaking would scare me away. He was speaking Norren. "Deborah, do you finally wake? Are you alright?"

I felt a heavy hand and cold cloth on my forehead, and thought I recognized the shape, colors and voice of Yrsarald. My vision cleared and, slowly, the sight of a red-brown goatee and worried blue eyes hovered above me.

"Oh, thank the gods." Yrsarald sat back in a chair that was pulled close to the edge of the bed. "I was worried for a moment. You were  _nithig_  in your fever. I think you were  _ofsonig_."

"I…," I scooted upright and leaned against the headboard, "I was many things…."

"Here, drink," he held up a cup to me. Water. I drank thirstily. "You're still quite warm. I suppose you should rest more. You can stay here for as long as you need; I can sleep elsewhere."

What? Stay where? I looked around me and realized I was in Yrsarald's bedroom, in his big bed with soft linens. Next to the bed was an empty bucket, and on the night table next to me was a silver bowl full of water, and several linen clothes folded next to the bowl. "Thank you…. I…." I became dizzy and lay back down. "I maybe am… not well. Am… have…."

"Yes, you have the fever. Do not worry; I will make sure you are taken care of." Yrsarald then stood and straightened out his armor. "I have to meet with Ulfric, but I will leave Einrik here to guard you. He'll be just outside, if you have need of anything." He walked to the door, and then glanced at the platter of food still on his desk from our morning feast. "I suppose if your appetite returns, there is plenty of food. I will have some soup and tea sent up, though. Sifnar knows what's good for the fever." Yrsarald gave me one last smile before leaving and closing the door behind him.

Once Yrsarald was gone, I immediately uncovered my feverish body from the suffocating linens, and then moments later recovered myself when I began to shiver. Feeling disgusting no matter what I did, I eventually dragged myself out of the bed and stripped myself of my mage's robe, leaving only my underwear and chest binding on. I washed myself with some cool water from the tall washbasin, and slid back into the bed, not bothering to dry off.

Sleep. Sleep. How could I sleep after the dream I'd just had? Dream. Dream. Just a dream. A feverish, hallucinogenic dream. Yes. Just a dream.

I thought to try and heal myself the way I did when I was dying from infection alongside Thrynn in the cabin, but barely any of the warm, yellow light emerged from my palms. "No, no no…," I muttered to myself. It took too much energy to heal myself for some reason this time. I didn't want to pass out again. I didn't have my journal and I had forgotten the healing words Wuunferth taught me.

A fleeting memory of some movie I couldn't remember the name of jetted through my mind.

"What do you do when you get a cold?" I muttered to myself in English, knowing full well I wasn't remembering the line properly. "Just have the cold," I muttered. "Just have the cold…."

When my innards started rumbling, I knew I didn't have a cold. I scrambled off the bed and ran to Yrsarald's small private latrine, tearing off my ladybriefs in the process.

Later that evening I wasn't feeling any better. I was eternally grateful for access to a private latrine, particularly because I had ripped my linen underwear and was wearing nothing but lightweight linen bedclothes that I asked the guard to retrieve for me. Yrsarald had checked on me at some point; I wasn't sure where he slept.

In the morning, I was awakened by the echoes of shouts coming from elsewhere in the palace. My bedclothes and the bed linens were completely soaked through with sweat, and I knew my fever had broken. I felt somewhat better, and promptly healed myself. A warm yellow light swirled around me.

"Finally," I muttered.

I quickly washed in Yrsarald's bathtub and lathered the sweat out of my hair. Someone had delivered fresh linen underwear and a chest binding for me. I quickly bound my bosom and threw on my mage's robe before eating a handful of berries, downing a cup of water, and running downstairs, not caring that I was barefoot. I made a note to see about buying some sort of sandals or slippers.

As I ran down the stairs and into the room with the big map, the shouting grew louder, and I began to discern words.

"What!?  _Eaten_!?" a man shouted.

"Yes," a woman replied, clearly upset.

I stepped into the main hall to be met by half a dozen guards, a civilian woman I didn't recognize, Ulfric, Galmar, Jorleif and Yrsarald. All of them stared at me from the base of Ulfric's throne – a barefoot, damp-haired mage, frozen in the archway. I took a tentative step forward, and then another. Yrsarald broke from the group and started towards me. For once, he was not smiling when he saw me. He grabbed my forearm and pulled me aside. Not violently, but not gently, either.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. From his actions I expected him to reprimand me for something I didn't know I had done, but I was wrong.

My face must have conveyed my confusion at his roughness. "I… better, now…. Why did I hear shouting?" I asked him. "What is happening?"

His expression and muscles relaxed, and he frowned. "Someone was killed. Not a woman this time – a man. He wasn't cut up, either. And he was wearing this." Still grasping my forearm, Yrsarald led me back over to the crowd next to Ulfric's throne. He turned to Jorleif who held a necklace with a skull engraved on a pendant.

"It was found at the  _sith_  of the rituals, and then stolen from my office," Jorleif explained. "I suppose the dead man stole it."

"Looks like you were right," Yrsarald continued, "Wuunferth is innocent, as are you. We all apologize… don't we?" He turned to the other men who grunted their meager apologies. "And someone saw something," Yrsarald turned around, "that woman, she saw…." Yrsarald turned back to me. "Yesterday, you were talking to Wuunferth about something to do with necromancers and… undead people attacking others. Do you truly know about such things?"

I stared up at the enormous man, jaw floored and mind dumbfounded. "I… they are just stories, Yrsarald. The things do not exist in my world."

"Tell them," Yrsarald ordered me, finally letting go of my arm.

Tell them? Tell them what? I stared at Yrsarald, and then at an expectant Ulfric, Jorleif and Galmar. Ulfric waved away the guards and crying woman. As I watched them leave, I said, "I will tell you what I know. But first…," I inhaled slowly, straightened my posture, and looked directly into Ulfric's eyes. "Let Wuunferth go, and then tell him and me exactly what happened."

Galmar growled. "I've got things to do," he turned to Ulfric. "I'm leaving for Kyne's  _Lund_  to check on the camp," he declared before promptly leaving the palace.

Ulfric let out a long, deep sigh, waved off Jorleif, and then walked into the map room.

Yrsarald pressed his hand to the small of my back and urged me to follow Ulfric. The Jarl, Yrsarald and I had a seat at a table in the map room to wait for Wuunferth. When the mage arrived, escorted by Jorleif and mumbling words of dissent, Ulfric began.

"A  _sagnafra_  was found early this morning inside his home, eaten." Ulfric rubbed his right temple, obviously experiencing a troublesome headache.

"Eaten?" I asked.

"Yes. The door to his home was open, and rats were seen entering. The woman who found him saw something else in the house – she described it as a dead woman, but sewn together, alive, and walking." Ulfric turned to me. "Sound familiar?"

"Well, yes…." I was getting nervous, and my voice was shaking. "I spoke to Wuunferth about a story from my world, about a man made from parts of men. But it is not a true story."

"What the woman saw sounded very true. However, she did not close the door to the house, and when the guards arrived, the undead woman was gone. No one else reports seeing the  _kvikind,_ but I fear it is running around my city. What do you  _bernd_  we do?"

Ulfric was asking me what to do about a zombie – a Frankenstein-like monster, eating people in the city. Wonderful. A wave of anxiety momentarily took over my senses.

"Ehh, I, well…." I fidgeted with my hair, tucking a wavy tress behind an ear, and then the other ear. "I don't know where the thing might be, but when the thing is found, the head must be… taken. Cut off. Hit hard." I looked to Yrsarald, who still wasn't smiling. He smiled so often, I knew he was truly worried.

"If I may…," Wuunferth spoke. "This necklace," he held the pendant in his hand, "is the Necromancer's  _Taufra_. I had never seen it before now, but, most mages of my  _gaeth_  know of its existence, so that we know not to use it. It… enhances ones magical abilities… and, as you might imagine, particularly enhances  _strovodinokur_  abilities. My suggestion is to destroy it, if you can…." He handed the necklace back to Jorleif, who promptly placed it into a small pouch. "If you found this on the dead man's body, my thoughts are that he was the necromancer, and that you have indeed found your killer. He failed, however, to bend his creation's will to that of his own. Deborah is right – we cannot know where the  _kvikind_ is. We must simply warn everyone, and hinder it from leaving."

"Yes, yes," I agreed, frantically nodded my head. "You must stop it from leaving the city. I do not think it is the same kind of thing from the stories from my world, but I do not know. It might be… it might make others undead too."  _I'm definitely not going to be able to sleep tonight_ , I thought.

Ulfric's expression never faltered from that of overwhelming frustration. He turned to Jorleif, nodded, and the steward trotted away. The Jarl then turned back to me. "Thank you, Deborah. You and Yrsarald may go. I will speak with Wuunferth alone."

Yrsarald and I stood, and I immediately headed upstairs. I ran to Wuunferth's quarters, grabbed my belongings, and packed everything in my large, two-strap knapsack.

"What are you doing?" Yrsarald asked as I made sure I collected everything that I owned.

"I am leaving. As soon as I can. Going to Winterhold." I turned to the man. "I am better now. No more fever. I became better during the night and used magic this morning. I am fine. But I must go. I cannot be here if an undead thing is here. I cannot. Cannot…." I walked past Yrsarald and headed to his room to retrieve my boots, which I hoped were still there.

"But the undead woman is not yet found. Ulfric and Wuunferth may have need of you." Yrsarald was right behind me, hovering.

"I will leave Wuunferth a note. I will not leave without saying goodbye." I yanked on my cloth socks and leather boots and then proceeded to stuff apples and hard but still edible lumps of cheese into my knapsack.

"Ulfric told me to guard you." Yrsarald was starting to get on my nerves, and into my personal space. "What if the man who was found was not the killer? What if the killer wants us to believe he is dead? What if he is sending the undead woman after people?" A hand landed on my shoulder. "Deborah…."

"What!?" I turned, snapping at the man. "I am no one, Yrsarald. I am a young mage with no power and no knowledge from a land that does not even have magic. I cannot be here. I cannot. No." I began to cry. I suddenly wished that Stenvar was back in Windhelm. I felt safe with Stenvar. Stenvar was not the killer…. "I cannot be here with the undead things. No, no," I hung my head, trying to hide my tears. I hoisted my knapsack onto my back and headed for the guest room where I had kept more of my belongings. Yrsarald trailed behind me.

I saw that the mattress I had taken into Wuunferth's room had been dragged back and placed on the bedframe. I felt weak, and tired. I needed food, and likely more water. It wasn't until I set the knapsack down by the bed and sat down on the mattress that I realized my entire body was shaking. I began to sob. Yrsarald was still standing by the bed, and remained there, silent, for a minute or two, but then crouched down in front of me.

"What's wrong? Truly?" he asked in a deep, soothing voice.

I sniffled and wiped my tears away. "I… I am…."  _Just tell him_ , I commanded myself. I grabbed a fistful of the fabric of my mage's robe and focused on Yrsarald's eyes. "My most big fear, of all fears, anywhere, is the undead." I shuddered. My eyes blurred again with fresh tears, and I looked away. "Also…."

Yrsarald gripped my unanchored hand in one of his. "Yes?"

"Also…," I gazed down at him again. I realized I must have acted like I was ready to go completely insane. He was truly concerned. I sighed. "I am very, very hungry."

Finally, Yrsarald smiled.


	27. Connections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will be going on a SHORT hiatus of no more than two weeks. I want to finish Fire on the Mountain and I have real life work to do. Enjoy!

We ate lunch in the kitchen that day, Yrsarald and I. Sifnar, the palace cook, allowed high-ranking palace staff to use the kitchen as they pleased, and Yrsarald was apparently a frequent customer. When we arrived in the kitchen it was not yet midday, but the ever-hungry mountain-man began to prepare his mother's "specialty", a cold chicken salad. The look of it reminded me of a cold turkey salad with cranberries, the kind my own mother would make with leftover Thanksgiving turkey meat.

Whoever designed this kitchen was ingenious. It was in the basement of the palace, and therefore could utilize the frozen ground beneath the floor. Like an ice cellar, a large area was cut into the earth and kept sealed with a metal lid. Stones lined the pit, and big blocks of ice were placed in the center with snow covering most of the contents for added insulation. Genius.

While Yrsarald cut leftover meat from a chilled chicken's carcass and mixed the sauce which used milk as its base, I stole several of the red berries he intended to use and munched on slices of dried bread smothered with a soft cheese.

"Your fever did not last long, I see," Yrsarald noted.

"Nope," I said with my mouth full of yum. "It was strange. I had not felt that bad in many years, but after the night I was very much better. I was not able to heal myself before, but later, I was, so, I did. Maybe my body does not allow healing sometimes…. Or, I might need training. I might not… have the power to heal when I truly want, yet."  _I just need to memorize Wuunferth's magic word,_  I reminded myself.

"I would  _bernd_  that you remain in the palace until the undead  _kvikind_ is found," he said.

"I told you," I said as I whipped out my journal and quill and inkpot from my smaller knapsack and scribbled some notes.  _Bernd_ , suggest?  _Kvikind_ , zombie? Monster, creature?  _Where is a shotgun when you need one?_ "I cannot be here if an undead thing is here. I will not sleep." I set my journal and writing implements down on the large wooden dining table near the stone counter where Yrsarald was working.

"You are safer here than anywhere else." Chop chop chop. "And I heard Ulfric say he wanted to speak with you about your world," Yrsarald said before turning to shoot me a scolding look.

I was getting really tired of Yrsarald. I didn't respond well to this sort of hovering and patronizing. I had to remind myself that he got me out of prison and held my hair back when I vomited, twice, and besides Wuunferth he was the only friend I had in the palace.

At that moment, Sifnar came into the kitchen carrying a bucket full of small blue flowers. I watched him as he dumped them all in a kettle which he had previously set over a fire. He smiled at me when he finished. "For dessert – adds a sweetness." I watched the contents of the small kettle jitter around as the water heated to a rolling boil. Blue flowers. Sweet blue flowers.

 _The dream!_  "Blue!" I blurted.

"What?" asked Sifnar.

Images from the dream flashed through my mind. I heard the woman's voice and felt the soft flower-covered field. I opened my journal to the next empty page and began to write, as fast as my quill allowed, everything that I saw in my mind, and everything that the woman had said.

"What are you writing?" Yrsarald asked.

I didn't answer either of them, but wrote everything I could remember. It took forever to write and to make sure I didn't end up with a big black splotch on the paper. I made a mental note to try and devise some kind of fountain pen. Yrsarald had placed a plate of his chicken salad in front of me but I ignored it. I had to get every detail I could remember onto paper before it faded for good from my memory, which dreams had a habit of doing with me.

Since arriving in Sky-Rim, I had had many dreams, but I rarely remembered details. My memories of recent dreams comprised brief glimpses of me running from dragons, revisiting the Helgen incident, nearly losing my head to an axe, having sex with Ralof (but not Stenvar or Thrynn, oddly), and the old stand-by crazy out-of-nowhere dreams, like hiding in a cabin from rainbow-colored crocodiles and ostriches, or trying to avoid being bitten by a large water snake while talking to Indiana Jones.

By the time I finished writing, Sifnar had left. Yrsarald had finished his share of the salad and had moved on to dessert. Thankfully, whatever ink this world had was quick to dry, and I closed my journal and turned to my food. Starving, I inhaled the contents of my plate – which tasted very good – and washed it down with some wine. When I set my cup down, I saw Yrsarald giving me an expectant look.

He stared me down for a moment until asking, "So?"

"Oh, it was very good. Thank you. I feel a bit better now. I eat when I am like this." Like this. PMS-ing, and scared shitless of zombies. I reached to my side to grab a small pastry.

"Thank you, and it pleases me that you feel better, but, I meant your journal. What is 'blue'? What was so important to write down?"

I frowned, finished my pastry, and grazed my fingertips across the leather binding. I wasn't quite sure Yrsarald was the person I needed to talk to about this. As I watched my hand move slowly over the contours of my journal, I saw that the appendage was shaking. "Yrsarald, what is your word for…," I raised the hand in front of him so he could see the trembling.

"Fear?" he offered.

"No. I mean, yes, but more. Like," I thought a moment, "like you think something will happen, but are not sure." My arms joined in on the shaky, agitated dance of trying to exemplify my anxiety with body language. "And the… waiting, it…  _eats_  at you. Makes you crazy." Crazy fingers. If one could mime what an anxious cringe looked like, that is what my hands were doing.

Yrsarald reached forward and stilled my shaking hands with both of his. " _Kvith,"_  he answered before resting his hands and mine on the table between us. "What are you  _kvitha_  about?"

I withdrew my hands from his, opened my journal, and added the new word.

 _Kvith_ , anxiety.  _Kvitha_ , anxious.

I looked up at him again. "I need to speak with Wuunferth." The words came out of my mouth almost as a reflex. I slammed my journal shut, tossed the quill and inkpot into my knapsack and, after briefly pausing to turn and thank Yrsarald once more for lunch, headed up to the main hall and to Wuunferth's quarters.

The old mage was there, having his lunch in private as usual. I opened my journal to the entry describing the recent elaborate dream and set the open pages in front of Wuunferth. He blinked up at me, confused.

"Look," I said as I nudged the journal closer to him. "It was a dream from when I had the fever. I made drawings."

"Why in Oblivion would I want to hear about a dream you had?" he grumbled.

"Because I do not think it was a true dream," I teased.

Intrigued, Wuunferth set down his sandwich and placed the journal on his lap. The entry was in English, but the drawings would help me narrate the dream to him. When I had finished recounting the conversation I had had with Meridia, my descriptions of the surroundings and of the goddess, I knew by his expression that I had gained and retained Wuunferth's curiosity.

"So I was right, about a portal opening…," Wuunferth said.

"I suppose yes," I confirmed with hesitation. I turned around to look at Wuunferth's enchanting table, the one with the skull of some demonic creature on top of it. "Wuunferth, what is this skull from?" I asked as I ran my fingers over one of the coiled horns.

"A  _kvikind_  called a Daedra _._  Servants of the Daedric  _Hofthinen_."

"A  _Daedra_!?  _That_  is what Daedra look like!?"

"Yes…," Wuunferth said, and then smiled. "Oh, you must have misunderstood. Daedra are these  _kvikinden,_ " he said, placing his hand on the demonic skull _._  "Daedric  _Hofthinen_  are the ones that rule over them – they are more like gods, but different."

"Evil?" I whispered.

"No, not all of them. Even some gods are not quite 'good'. It's all how one looks at their actions, I suppose. They are neither good nor evil, but something in between, or… neither."

I was confused, but I had to move on to my question. "Wuunferth, I… I had thoughts about the portals." I began to pace slowly back and forth in front of the enchanting table. "And… other things. But first, a question that is annoying me. Do you know how that necklace was stolen from Jorleif?"

"The  _taufra_? I suppose Calixto used an  _osunilek_  spell and took it," the mage answered.

"A what spell? Calixto?"

"Calixto was the man found eaten. Turns out he was trying to re-make his sister…," Wuunferth turned his gaze for a moment, and then looked back at me. "He likely used  _osunilek_  – the ability to be unseen," the old mage explained.

I turned on my heels and stared at Wuunferth. "That is possible?"

"Of course it is possible. He either knew the spell, or used a potion."

"There is a  _potion_  for that!?"

"Did I not just say so? They are not exactly  _thuna_  but exist nonetheless. Why do you ask about the  _taufra_?"

I shook my head and continued pacing. "I had it on my mind, that is all." I stopped pacing and stood in front of the enchanting table, staring at the demonic Daedra skull. "Wuunferth, what if… these portals open sometimes? Not just when I came here, but sometimes…. Maybe even just once before…. Maybe that is all it would take. One time. One brief time."

"What are you going on about?" Wuunferth grumbled. He grumbled a lot.

"What if, long, long ago, a portal opened, and visions of this world came through? What if these Daedra came through, the ones with horns? Meridia told me… Daedra were sent to my world to see it. See what it was, what the portal was…." My hand followed the curve of the demonic horn again. "In my world, things like this do not exist. This thing here," I felt the contours of the rest of the skull, "would be seen as not real, even If it was in front of me. But what if one day, long, long ago, one person saw this thing, alive, and wrote it down? Made a drawing or described it to someone…. And that is from where we in my world have… images and ideas and stories of things like this?" I turned to the old mage. "The potion that makes you unseen. Gods, Daedra, magic, elves, undead, dragons…. None of it has ever existed in my world. But what if these things were seen through portals? Even if just to see, like a window… even just once… and this is how these things became stories in my world? I think the idea of dragons may have come from finding very big bones and skulls of animals that truly existed and not understanding them, but what if it is something else? Something like portals…. Meridia said the gods felt things about my world. Some Daedra saw things, and one thing she called very bad."

"What was this 'very bad' thing?"

"I don't know. I woke from the dream right after."

"Right after Meridia told you that the gods believe in you, that they sensed something in you…."

I crumpled onto a chair. All of this was completely exhausting. "I suppose everyone who always said the gods wanted me here was right." I wanted to curl up into a ball in a dark corner somewhere. I glanced up at Wuunferth. "Did Ulfric apologize to you?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, but he also made Jorleif apologize. Ulfric had no part in my arrest. He was upset on my behalf. Actually, he offered to allow me to hire you as my official assistant… once you  _vokleik_  from the College, that is…."

"Once I… what?"

"Once you finish and become a full  _laerling._ "

"A full what?"

Wuunferth chuckled and shook his head. "Once you learn what that word means…."

I stared at my feet. "I don't want to be here with the undead thing. I want to go."

"To Winterhold? But you still have much to learn,  _granaar_  the language."

"But I won't sleep…."

"You can sleep in the  _hlifa_  bedroom next to mine," a voice came from behind me. I turned around to see Yrsarald, and had to stifle a groan.

 _How long has he been standing there?_ I wondered.  _Is he following me?_  "The bedroom next to yours? Why?" I asked the mountain-man.

Yrsarald walked further into Wuunferth's quarters. "Ulfric felt bad about your imprisonment. It's not being used, and it locks. Will that help you sleep? Feel safe? Myself and Galmar will be right there next to you."

I hugged myself and sat silent for a moment. "Yes," I answered quietly. "I suppose."

"Good." His goatee spread with his smile. "I'll have Jorleif move your things there. Now, please come with me. The Jarl would speak with you."

Jarl Ulfric was alone in his quarters, writing at his desk. When Yrsarald and I entered, he finished whatever he was writing before acknowledging us. He stood, voiced his gratitude to Yrsarald, and the mountain-man left, closing the door behind him. Ulfric turned to me and gestured to a pair of large, elaborately carved wooden chairs by a window. Each of them had what looked like padded red velvet cushions on the backs and seats.

"Please, sit," he said. His voice was steady and deep.

I did as Ulfric asked and set my small knapsack against the side of the chair. Ulfric sat himself in the other chair, and I think he may have even cracked a tiny smile.

"I wanted to thank you again for your help with finding The Butcher. And… apologize for Jorleif acting  _skyndaar_. You must understand that the journals that were found truly made it seem like Wuunferth was the killer. But, now, we have a third journal, and it's quite clear that neither Wuunferth nor you were involved in this mess…." Ulfric reached forward and poured wine into two silver goblets, then handed one to me. "As you  _grunat_ , the handwriting of the third journal, which was found in Calixto's house, matched that of the others, and that note. We still search for the undead woman, though." He sipped his wine, seemingly as calm as ever.

"Is…," I stared into the dark red wine, "is this what you wanted to talk about? The undead woman?"

"Hm, no. I wanted you to tell me about your world." The Jarl reclined onto the back of the large chair and made himself comfortable, letting out a deep sigh. The fur cloak around his steel armor made him look even larger than he was. His shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair, always framed by two braids, truly gave him the look of a magnificent lion. King of a stone jungle.

"What do you want to know?" I asked the Jarl.

He smiled. "Everything," was his simple answer.

I related to Ulfric, as best I could, many details from my world. Our lack of magic and elves and gods, the types of governments we had, and that we knew all about our own past both by reading what people have written and digging into the earth to find their remains, what they ate, and their buildings. I also explained how I arrived in this world, but left out my dream of Meridia.

"Does your world look like ours?" Ulfric asked. "The trees and mountains, and such…."

"Yes, very much so. But we only have one moon."

"Hmph. And the people?"

"Yes, people look the same. Except… we have no elves, no Argonians, no Khajiit… just people of both dark and light skin and everything in the middle."

"Interesting."

"But, across time, there were many… ehh… different types of people. They… changed… from a small person-animal to a person like me, my height, and able to speak."

"A person-animal? Like Khajiit?"

"No, no…. It is very difficult to explain."

"Try." Ulfric poured himself some more wine.

I took a sip from my goblet, wondering if I could explain evolution in a language I didn't know very well to a person that didn't know what evolution was. "There were… many times in my world. Right now, when I… left, came here, the world was in the time of… ehh…," I nervously scratched my arm, "high knowledge. I don't know another word. We rely very much on knowledge and learned things. We have made things that make life easier, and allow many, many… many people to be fed…," I bit my lip, "at least most people. Some areas of the world are very poor, dying, while others are very rich.

"But first, people were smaller, lived off the land like animals, but looked like people. Then they first used stones as tools… and, later, used fire, cooked meat... Those things all made people become more like me, after a long, long time. Then, their minds became more… like mine. They buried their dead and maybe prayed to gods. They painted on stones and made necklaces. But they still lived off the land and were part of the world like animals, except they now hunted and wore animal skins to survive the cold."

"The cold?" Ulfric interjected.

"Yes," I continued. "It became very, very cold in the north; much like this world is now. I think maybe this world is in a similar time to what mine was long, long ago. Not the people, but the land itself. Nirn. I guess many, many many, many years ago, Nirn was warmer."

"I believe it was." Ulfric leaned forward and positioned himself in a peculiar way, much like the pose of the famous statue The Thinker, but with his legs spread wider. "A land north of here, Atmora, where my people come from, is covered in ice. Long ago, this was not so."

"Ah. Well, the weather later warmed in my world, and people started to make farms and stay in one place in houses. The number of people in the world went up and up. It is this time when lands began to come together under rulers… and many, many wars were fought." Ulfric sat up straight as I spoke. "Wars have been fought since. The last war happened… not a hundred years ago. Most wars happened because of gods, different gods, or land… fights over land."

"You know about wars, then?" Ulfric asked. "Empires?"

"I… know a little about wars and empires. One empire, one of many, that happened over the many years."

"How much do you know?"

I sipped my wine and stared at Ulfric for a moment. "I don't know how wars are won or lost, but I do know how at least one empire came to be and then fell."

Ulfric's interest was certainly piqued. From this point forward in our conversation, he drank no more wine. "Tell me how this empire fell," he requested.

Rome. I sighed, sipped more wine, and sat up straighter. "The empire came to be by making lands next to its major city loyal to them. They offered protection, money, food, and allowed the people to keep their gods. Some lands never liked this empire, and wanted it to go away, leave them alone. One big land had many people, and they fought a lot with the empire over many hundreds of years. A smaller land, far away from the major city, had few people, did not fight much, but hated the empire for not allowing them to keep their one god."

"Their one god?" Ulfric interrupted.

"Yes. This small land had only one god, and the empire did not like this. The empire wanted the people to pray to the Emperor as a god, and these people did not want to. This was trouble, big trouble. A war of gods happened after that for a long time. Even today, people fight over gods."

"I thought you said your world had no gods…?" Ulfric refilled my goblet.

"It does not. No one has seen one, not ever. They are in our minds, only."

"How can you be sure?" Ulfric asked. He looked almost hurt by this knowledge.

"I do not believe in things I do not see," I answered plainly.

"I have never seen a god, and, yet, I know they exist." The Jarl appeared to be growing defensive.

 _Stenvar_ …, I thought. "A friend told me that magic comes from the gods."

"It does. From Magnus. He made this world, with the help of others."

I leaned forward and set my goblet on the table. "Magic does not exist in my world, so neither do gods."

Ulfric blinked at me. "Were the gods destroyed?"

I bit my tongue inside my closed mouth to stifle a laugh. "Ehh, no, I do not think the gods ever existed. They were in the minds of people, only. A wish... A wish people made early in time to not be alone in the world. But, only a wish."

The Jarl sat back in his chair, a defeated look breaking through his stone exterior. "So, how did this empire fall?"

I blushed, knowing full well that I was rambling while trying to build a base for my explanation of what happened to Rome. "The big land with many rebels kept fighting. Later, the empire changed gods to this one god – the same one they fought against before."

"They just abandoned their gods!?"

Ulfric's excited and anger-filled question startled me. "Yes. As I said, the gods are not real. They are ideas and beliefs. Minds of men are easily changed." The Jarl settled back into his chair, and I continued. "This new belief in one god caused trouble. Life was not cherished, but instead, death. Life was… dark, and death was light. People stopped caring about life. They stopped making new things that made life better. They could not wait to just… die. Not in battle, just… die. Still, the rich became richer, the poor become poorer, and new forced human labor, a thing that made the empire mighty, became hard to find."

"Forced human labor?" Ulfric bolted upright again. "You mean  _thralen?_  Your land had  _thralen,_  too!?"

 _Thralen,_ slaves. "Yes. I think… ever since wars became a thing that happened, slaves were taken. Almost all the time, but it is outlawed now. It still happens, though."

"Did the slaves rebel?"

I thought for a moment. "Some did. There is a story of at least one big slave battle. Two, I think, but…." I smiled, and laughed. "One of the reasons why the empire fell is the slaves. They opened the gates to the rebels from the big land that always fought against the empire." I wasn't entirely sure of the validity of that last fact, but some thought it possible. I ended my story of the fall of western Rome there, because the rest was too complicated.

Ulfric seemed to like the sound of a slave revolt. He was satisfied with my story of the fall of an empire. I picked up my goblet and sipped my wine.

"You are aware of the war happening in Skyrim now, yes?" Ulfric asked.

"Yes. Ralof told me."

"Good, good. And he explained why we are fighting?"

"Yes. The elves hate Talos, and you and most Nords pray to Talos."

"Hm, yes, but it isn't all elves. Just the Thalmor. Did Ralof explain the Thalmor to you?"

I shook my head.

Ulfric proceeded to enlighten me on a group of elves called the Thalmor, the 'Aldmeri something' which was their government, and what had happened after something called the Great War, which he, Galmar, and Yrsarald had fought in. Thalmor were attacking lands within the empire, and they attacked Sky-Rim most recently, and the war ended twenty-six years ago with a call for peace and an agreement that involved the outlawing of the worship of Talos.

"A year later," Ulfric continued, "the Empire had need of an army to take back a land to the western edge of Skyrim that had been  _kundt_  and was occupied by native  _volginen_. The Empire promised me, if we helped drive out these  _volginen_ , that the people of Markarth would be allowed to  _tilb_  Talos freely. I thought, 'Yes, this is one step in the correct direction. We can win back the right to  _tilb_  Talos in all of Skyrim!'" The look on Ulfric's face told me he still seethed in anger from whatever he was about to tell me. He had to collect his thoughts for a few moments before continuing. "Once the land was freed of  _volginen_ , Thalmor marched in and arrested me and some of my men, and killed any who fought back." His face was turning red with rage, and he hid behind his large hand. His voice quieted. "How Talos can just watch this happen to his own people and not do something…."

I frowned at the man in front of me. His faith appeared to be breaking. "Ralof told me… Talos was human. A great warrior. And a friend told me he was given the title… Ysmir. 'Dragon of the North'. Maybe…," I shifted forward, sitting on the edge of the chair, and softened my voice. "Maybe Talos is waiting for a warrior to follow him."

At my words, Ulfric looked up from his hand. "You mean fight… fight for our freedom?"

"Yes. If… if, here, gods are real, and I believe they are, then I think Talos, a warrior-god, would want his people to fight their own battles. Why would a warrior-god just… open his eyes and speak words to kill enemies? It is too easy." I recalled what Meridia told me, and then added, "I do not think the gods are all-powerful. They cannot fight every battle for us. But they can give us hope, and… strength."

I think this was only the second time I'd ever seen Ulfric truly smile, the first time being when Ralof took me to Windhelm and was reunited with the Jarl.

"I'm glad to have spoken with you, Deborah. Wuunferth was right about you. You have a certain…," Ulfric paused a moment, "wisdom… about you." I knew I was blushing at his words, and buried my face in my goblet. "I suppose having the knowledge of a completely different world cannot hurt." At that, Ulfric stood from the chair and walked over to a nearby window. "Once you have  _vokleikt_  from the College, you will be welcomed here as Wuunferth's official assistant. Until then, you may stay here for as long as you like in a larger guest room." Ulfric turned to me and managed to briefly crack a smile. "A small way for me to show my gratitude." Standing with one hand on his waist, and another grasping the wood beam running across the window, he once again looked outside. "I only ask that you remain here until this… undead woman is found, and we are certain no others exist in the city, and none have escaped." He gazed out the window for a few more moments before gesturing for me to stand, and walking me over to the door to the hallway. "I will seek you out again, if I have questions." He opened the door, and then his large hand pressed against my back and ushered me out of his quarters. The door shut loudly behind me as I walked, unguarded, down to the main upstairs hallway.

I was met there by two guards and Jorleif, who had moved my belongings into the spare room. "Thank you, Jorleif, guards," I said.

Jorleif sort of grunted a response, and planted a large iron key onto my palm. "The key. Don't lose it. And, please, if you have any more information that may aid in finding this undead woman, do let me know." At that, Jorleif and the guards walked off, down to the main hall.

Just then, I saw a blue light flash at the far end of the hallway. It came from Wuunferth's quarters. I closed the door and locked it, tucked the key inside my small knapsack, and went to see what was causing the light. As I walked down the hallway, a dense line of light blue fog headed straight for me. I jumped out of the way as the blue fog passed me and felt a thick, heavy breeze, as if the light had been accompanied by a burst of steam. I ran the rest of the way to Wuunferth's quarters to find him holding in his left hand the skull pendant necklace and emitting a light-blue glow in his right hand.

"What was that blue light?" I asked. "It hit me like… a cloud."

Wuunferth stared at me, wide-eyed with a mix of excitement and terror. "I believe, Deborah, that I have found the undead woman."


	28. A Warm, Happy Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story is still on "temporary hiatus" which just means updates are slow for the time being. Stick with me! I don't know if I will get another chapter up within a week or two. We will see. REAL LIFE! *shakes fist in air*

I stared at Wuunferth, partly from excitement, but mostly from terror. "Found her? Where?"

"I don't know yet," Wuunferth answered. "This spell will lead us to her, though."

"What is the spell? How do you do it?"

Wuunferth lowered his hands. "Normally, one must merely think of an object or person, and cast this simple spell. It works much better if an object related to the  _mith_  is held in the left hand." Wuunferth then pressed the skull pendant into my left palm. "Think of the undead woman. Ask the gods to reveal her to you."

My jaw hung low.  _Think of the undead woman_? I thought if it took Wuunferth this long to find her, I definitely wouldn't be able to find her. But, I tried. I stared at my right hand and waited for it to emit a bluish glow. And I waited some more.

"Nothing, Wuunferth. I do not know the spell. How can I make the magic?"

Wuunferth tapped his fingers to his bearded chin for a moment before turning to his bookshelf. He grabbed a worn, reddish-leather bound book and flipped through the pages rapidly. On the cover of the book was a symbol similar to a  _triskelion_.

"Ah, yes, here." Wuunferth moved the strip of cloth to mark the page which he had found and handed me the book. "You can read while we walk."

"We? I come with you!? Wuunferth, no…."

"If you want to be a mage, Deborah," he said while goading me out of his room and into the hall, then shutting the door behind him, "you must be willing to face  _athstaethen_  that frighten you. If you do not, you will end up living your life on a farm. Now, read that passage, and follow me."

That shut me up.

The short entry in Wuunferth's book contained what I figured was some sort of incantation, but at the top of the page it said that the phrase could be merely thought, not spoken. I took the pendant out of my mage's robe pocket and placed it on the open book. "Can I wear the necklace, Wuunferth?"

"NO!" The old man spun toward me and spat the word with a ferocity I had not seen in him before. "No, it is too powerful. Just hold it in the left hand."

My wide-eyed stare at the mage ended when he spun back around and headed down to the main hall of the palace. I thought I understood the incantation, and I recited it in my head. I thought about what the words meant, and wondered if thinking in English would be just as affective. So, I tried.

_God of Magic_

_I seek that I may find_

_Reveal, reveal_

_Light my way_

It likely wasn't a literal translation, but I figured it meant the same thing. The words on the page were Norren, not the ancient language Wuunferth knew magic words for. This was more of a prayer than a mere spell, anyhow.

My right hand, however, failed to emit a blue-lit fog. While we stood in the main hall, Wuunferth took the skull pendant from me and silently performed the incantation himself. The blue fog traveled toward the giant palace doors and, I assumed, well past them.

"Outside," I said. "I will get our cloaks."

Once properly dressed and accompanied by armed guards, we followed Wuunferth's blue fog. I kept attempting the locator spell, but nothing happened. I gave up for the moment and let Wuunferth keep the skull pendant.

The fog led us around the city. I still saw the small stone-walled streets as a sort of maze, and was glad to not have to go on this mission alone. Having two armed guards and a master wizard with me was quite comforting.

Finally, the blue fog came to an end, or rather passed through a door to a building.

"That's the Aretino house," a guard commented. "It should be empty." He looked to the other guard, who stood silent, staring. "Do we go in?" he asked the silent guard.

Finally, the other guard spoke. "I don't think we have a choice," He turned the handle, but the door was locked. "But, I don't have the key. Jorleif does."

Wuunferth grumbled something under his breath and stepped between the guards, gently pushing on their chests to move them aside. He held up his right hand and emitted a purplish-blue light that did nothing.

"What was that?" I asked him.

"Searching for anything dead, or undead…," Wuunferth replied.

"I see nothing," I said. "Is the undead woman gone?"

"No, no," Wuunferth replied, "she's there. She's lit up like a white flame. Only the caster can see the spell's effects."

"Oh." I made a mental note to ask Wuunferth to teach me this spell, too. Zombie radar. Zombdar.

Wuunferth then emitted a rich purple glow. I still saw nothing. He then reached out his right hand to the lock, emitted a red glow, and I heard a faint click. He then pushed, and the door opened. The guards immediately raised their weapons. Wuunferth turned to the one on his right and gestured towards the door. "After you…." The old mage's slight smile made me wonder what he knew.

"But, wait," one of the guards faltered. "How was the door  _locked_?"

Wuunferth chuckled. "You tell me," he answered.

Both guards stood silent. One answered with, "The undead woman… can… lock?"

"No, idiot," the other guard walked over and in front of us. "Someone is up there."

"There is?" the less-bright guard asked.

"Yes, there is," Wuunferth answered. "Someone… small."

"Small?" The less-bright guard spoke quietly. The guards simultaneously lowered their weapons.

"A child," the other guard declared.

"Mm," Wuunferth confirmed.

"A child? With the… thing!?" My stomach turned.

"Yes," Wuunferth replied, "and it's alive. The undead woman, however, is dead."

"Dead? The child…," I tried to wrap my head around the concept, "a child killed the undead woman!?"

"Perhaps. Now…," Wuunferth once more bade the guards to proceed into the house. They did, slightly less unsure of themselves, however. Immediately after the door space was a wooden staircase leading up. The guards had their axes raised.

As we scaled the stairs I started to hear quiet muttering in a child's voice. I couldn't make out the words, but as soon as Wuunferth, who walked ahead of me, cleared the stairs, I heard the child gasp, and the muttering stopped.

"No! No! You're not supposed to be here!" I heard the child say.

I cleared the stairs to see the guards both holding their weapons in front of them, and the child, a boy, pointing a dagger at each guard in turn.

"What in Oblivion are you doing in here, boy?" a guard asked. "This house is city  _eyent_."

"This is  _my_  house!" the boy exclaimed. "I do what I want!" He swished the dagger side to side between the guards, eventually adding Wuunferth and myself to the arc of his aim.

"Aventus?" Wuunferth asked.

"Yes! I told you,  _my_ house! Go away!" The child was stomping his feet at this point. He couldn't have been more than twelve years old.

"We have orders to search this  _eyent_ ," a guard said as he took a step closer to the boy. "Stand aside."

Out of nowhere, the dagger the boy held flew out of his hand and behind us, far out of reach.  _Shit, that old mage can do everything_ , I thought.  _Note to self: ask Wuunferth about his telekinesis._

"Hey! Give it back!" As the boy lunged towards Wuunferth, a guard caught him in his arms and held him tight.

"Go on, mage," the guard said, "I think that's it there in that little room."

Wuunferth stepped forward. I didn't want to follow him, but I figured he'd want me to, so I did.

I later wished I'd stayed in the palace.

"What…," was all I managed to say as I took in the sight before us on the floor. Splayed out in anatomical position was the undead woman, of that I was sure. If that had been the only thing in front of me, I would have been only moderately ill at ease at the sight. I was not at all prepared to see the body ripped to pieces. How the undead woman ended up in this boy's house, upstairs, was a mystery. Why it was mutilated… I feared the answer.

The undead woman's face had been smashed in - I figured that would have been the only way to kill something like this, and maybe the boy discovered that quickly enough to survive. However, I only knew how the undead woman was destroyed due to seeing the facial bones of her skull completely shattered. The boy, for reasons I did not want to know, had defleshed her skull. Her facial skin and scalp sat in a pile in the corner of the small room. The rest of her body was cut apart at the seams that the necromancer used to put her together. I then saw what looked like stab wounds all over the body. Her chest had been opened, and the heart placed at the side of the body. The only blood to be found was brown and congealed, having long since stopped flowing before the woman was created and revived.

The little ironic blue-purple petals sprinkled around the carcass were the absolute last things I expected to see.

A dozen lit candles encircled the entire scene, giving it the look of some sort of satanic ritual. Wuunferth blowing them out dragged me back to reality; I hadn't noticed the guards leaving with the boy.

"It's the Black  _Rukevah,_ " Wuunferth mused as he stroked his beard.

"Black…," was all I said while unwillingly unable to look away from the grotesqueness in front of me.

Wuunferth sat down on a chair. He was already deep in thought.

I joined Wuunferth in sitting, but I still couldn't look away from the undead woman's pile of parts.

"What… what happened, Wuunferth?" I finally managed to ask.

"Hmm, well, it seems the boy somehow lured the undead woman into his home, smashed her head in, and cut her up."

"But… what…  _is_  all of this?" I barely voiced the words.

Wuunferth sat in silence for a moment longer, then stood and said, "I will explain later. For now, we need to clean up this mess." The old mage approached the small room, held up his right hand, and began to shuffle the body parts, candles and flower petals about with his telekinesis. He had sorted everything into piles before stopping. He then raised both of his hands and sent out a flash of what looked like a compressed blizzard. The bits of flesh, candles, and petals all became inundated with frost and soon looked as if they were nothing but ice themselves.

"Wuunferth, what are you doing? We need to tell the Jarl," I said as he rummaged through the various cupboards and drawers.

"We tell nothing to  _no one_ ," Wuunferth stressed. "The guards will make up something about the boy stealing bread, or… similar…. They know this needs to be kept quiet."

"But… I don't understand. What happened here? What is the—"

"Enough, Deborah." Wuunferth fluttered a large leather sack in front of him to check its size. "This will do. Help me put the  _resten_  into sacks."

I opened my mouth to protest, but stopped myself, and did as Wuunferth said. I was surprised at how strong the old man was while we each lugged a sack down the stairs and out of the house. In the middle of the street, Wuunferth set the sacks on fire and stayed there until there was nothing left but ash.

The burning remains did not smell like bacon. Not fresh bacon, anyway.

I followed Wuunferth back to the palace. Part way there, I asked him, "What are you not telling me?"

"I believe that I told you about the ritual used to pray to a dark god," he answered.

"Oh… the one with the hearts?"

"Indeed."

"Wait, you are saying the boy prayed to the dark god? He… used the… pieces…. But… what would a boy want with a dark god?" My voice rose to a harsh whisper. "How would a boy  _know_  about a dark god!?"

"Somehow, the boy came upon a book…. I found it in the house. It burned with the rest. The ritual brings someone to you – a  _snikmorthe_  – and you pay to have someone killed."

"What!?"

"The boy is an  _oth_ , and both of his parents died of natural causes. I don't know who he would want dead."

My mind then became overloaded with confusion, and I did not ask further questions. The rest of our walk was spent in silence.

When we got back to the palace, I went straight to my new room. As I locked the door behind me and stuffed the key in my mage's robe pocket, I wondered what the Jarl would have to say about Wuunferth destroying the body. I wondered if they would keep this room available for me if I left Windhelm for the college tomorrow and didn't come back for a long, long time.

I then began to feel death creeping along my skin, the very same sensation people have when they say they feel "buggy", as if bugs are crawling all over them. My skin felt tainted, and I immediately shed my clothes and plunged myself into the cold tub of water that was refreshed every day in these private rooms. If one wanted a hot bath they could use the larger, stone tubs down the hall, but these single-person metal tubs were perfect for an urgent bathing session.

I must have scrubbed myself for nearly an hour before I felt clean again. Before I dressed, I wrapped myself in a soft, large buckskin towel and lit the small hearth with fire-starter rocks. There was no way I was going to put on the same clothes again before having them washed, so I set out on my dresser the fur clothing I had bought in Riverwood, some spare underwear, and a chest binding. For the time being, though, I snuggled into one of the large chairs in front of the fire, and went to my happy place.

It didn't work. I tried to force thoughts of zombies, assassins, murderous children, dragons and gods out of my mind, but without easy distractions like a movie or TV to force my thoughts elsewhere, it was futile. The dream I'd had about some Daedric god named Meridia played and replayed through my memory. Worries of zombies walking the streets of a world I did not belong in grew more intense until I began to hyperventilate. I wrapped the buckskin towel tighter around me until I was safe from the world in a cocoon of leather and could regulate my breathing through the hide. The tears came regardless of my efforts. The towel served nicely as a snot rag.

Though curled into itself, my body soon began to tremble, and I became oblivious to the sounds that came out of my mouth. I knew I was crying, perhaps even shouting, but all I saw were zombies and dragons, dragon-fire and zombies on fire, dragons eating zombies and zombies eating people, black-robed assassins creeping in the shadows and zombies jumping out at the assassins and children jumping out at the zombies.

I didn't know when it would stop, the vastness of monstrous revelations this world offered. I was having a panic attack of the severest of degrees and I had nothing and no one to calm me. I forced my thoughts to turn to Stenvar, but all I saw was Stenvar decapitating zombies and outlaws with his massive sword, and then a dragon biting Stenvar's head off.

Some of my shouting in my native tongue registered in my mind: " _Stop", "no more", "I can't_ ". I felt my fingernails digging into my flesh, and it felt good. I let my body attempt to distract one pain with another, but visions of zombies with jagged teeth biting into my flesh replaced the vaguely comforting sensation. Despite the new visual horror that my brain associated with the self-inflicted pain, my fingernails pressed deeper. I felt some nerves scream and I knew I had pressed too deep.

And then something landed on my shoulder.

Something of a mix between a scream and a sob escaped my mouth, and I shot up from the chair and spun around to see Yrsarald looking utterly terrified.

" _What!? Wh-…. How— damn, fuck!_ " Pulled back into reality, I finally heard myself wailing as I struggled to breathe. My speech came as a reflex, and was loud, and broken. I crumbled to my knees, still cocooned in hide. My sobbing continued. " _Fucking fuck_ …."

Yrsarald said nothing, but I heard him walk toward me. I felt a hand attempt to grasp at my lower arm, but I fought it off with violent wriggling. I screamed more. Obscene words came flying out, unfiltered. The hand returned, stronger and more insistent. I knew I couldn't fight him off unless I let go of my hide wrap armor, but I couldn't bring myself let go. Yrsarald grumbled and next I knew the man was scooping me up into his arms and walking over to my bed.

He deposited me in the middle of the mattress, and I turned on my side away from him. I felt him tugging at the bedclothes and I instinctively lifted my body to let him pull down the quilts and sheets so that I may be covered by them. Yrsarald tucked the blankets securely around me up to my shoulders. My sobbing continued and I still refused to let go of my hide wrapping. The weight of his body upon the mattress caused me to lean back a bit towards him, and even through the multiple layers of fabric between us I felt the warmth of his remarkably high body temperature as he slid in close behind me. His right arm rested on my side.

We lay there without speaking until my sobs quieted.

"You missed dinner," Yrsarald said, finally breaking the silence between us. "I was worried, and then I heard your cries."

I sniffled and cleared my throat before I answered. "How did you get in?"

"Wuunferth used his magic."

"Oh."

"I talked to Wuunferth. It's over now. You don't have to fear the undead woman any longer."

I didn't answer him. Instead I concentrated on that thought – one more monster was dead. I added in the warm sensation of Yrsarald's latest attempt to provide comfort. Eventually, I fell asleep.

It was daylight when I finally woke. During the night I had flung the blankets off of me and the buckskin towel had become rather strategically placed. Yrsarald was still asleep, lying flat on his back, and snoring in peculiar, barely audible chuffing sounds. He must have been too warm too, because he had disrobed from the waist up.

I promptly rose from the bed and wrapped the towel around me, tucking the top corners into a fold between my breasts. The fur clothes I had laid out on the dresser were still there, and I realized someone had apparently come in during the night, because my death-ridden mage's robe and underwear were all folded neatly next to the furs. They smelled of flowers; someone had washed them. It was too warm in my room to wear much, so I quickly pulled on clean ladybriefs, wrapped myself in a chest binding, and rummaged through my compiled belongings until I found my linen nightclothes.

Yrsarald continued to snore, seemingly as dead to the world as a hibernating bear. I poured myself some water from a pitcher and drank heavily, and then snatched an apple and some cheese from one of my bags.

My panic attack the night before only briefly relieved my body of its sense of hunger, and now it was back threefold. For some reason, eating calmed me down somewhat when only general levels of stress and anxiety plagued my mind. The apple and cheese did nothing to sate my rabid hunger. Luckily, someone had placed a platter of bread and soft cheese on a table. I ate my fill, washed the meal down with more water, and climbed back into the large bed.

I could feel the heat radiating stronger now from Yrsarald. A vague memory from when I had an actual fever came to mind, and I recalled how he felt warm then, too. I wondered if part of the reason he ran hot was his sheer size, laden with muscles and a healthy layer of body fat fit for an ox. Or perhaps his dense, light red-brown chest hair insulated his body heat. Maybe both were the cause. The dense hair covered the majority of his chest and spilled down his torso, creating a sparse coat on his abdomen and a very noticeable "happy trail". I then noticed his arms and shoulders were covered in faint freckles; he even had a few across his nose and cheeks.

He was still asleep. I saw light stubble forming around his shaped goatee, and wondered just how thick a beard the man could grow if his body hair was any indication. As I pondered my half-naked acquaintance's biology, I caught a glimpse of a mark on his left pectoral, right over his heart, almost completely obscured by his chest hair.

Being a fan of tattoos, I couldn't resist the urge to attempt a closer look. The light was growing brighter in the room, but still wasn't bright enough to see past the chest hair clearly. I made out what looked like a series of vertical lines and a dark shape beneath them, all about the size of a baseball. I allowed my face to come close enough to the man to feel his hot breath on my neck, but I resisted the temptation to brush aside his chest hair to study the tattoo further.

"Is there a bug?" I heard Yrsarald's thickly-accented, deep voice ask.

I quickly sat up straight, unable to hide my blushing, caught-red-handed expression.  _Wait, what did he say_? "What?" I asked.

"A bug, in my chest hair," he sat up and looked down at himself as he ran his hands over the dense coat of bronze hair. "It happened a lot when I camped with the army."

"Oh, ehh, no, no bug." I knew my face and ears were burning red.

Yrsarald was still combing his fingers through his chest hair when he blurted out a nearly-contained laugh. "I'm just  _yirvig_ , Deborah. I don't get bugs in my chest hair." Chuckling, he leaned back against the headboard of the bed and raised his hands behind his head. "It's my tattoo. You can look; I don't mind."

I managed a little laugh of my own, and edged forward to take a closer look at his chest, but I still couldn't see past the hair in the dimmed morning light.

"You know, it's alright to touch me," Yrsarald said. "I promise you won't become  _vrelur_  with disease."

I looked up again at Yrsarald, the flush on my cheeks returning in full force. My lips formed a sheepish smile and I gave a slight shake of the head before touching Yrsarald's chest. I parted the dense bronze hair to examine the faint ink lines beneath. The main part of the tattoo was a solid blue square, which was easy enough to see. Above this were five vertical lines of varying length. The ink was faded around the edges, indicating that it was old.

"It is… a hand?" I asked as I sat a bit away from Yrsarald, giving him back his personal space.

"Yes. Well, a  _lab,_ of a bear."

 _A bear paw_. "Bear. Like, the… things, in the palace? Like your armor?" I giggled. "Like Galmar?"

"Heh, yes." Yrsarald opened his mouth as if to say more, but for some reason decided against it. "Are you feeling better? You cried during the night… and screamed." The man's cheerful mood sank. The transition was instantaneous, as if my mood, or even thinking about my mood, affected his own.

I began to cry again. I recalled that I was expecting my period any day now, so I partially blamed PMS. Mostly zombies and dragons and devil-children, but partially the PMS.

"Hey, now," Yrsarald sat up and kneed his way closer to me. His massive lumberjack arms wrapped around me, and my sobs intensified. I turned my head to rest on Yrsarald's chest. My ear pressed against his tattoo, and I heard his strong heartbeat. A hand came down on my head, and fingers stroked my hair. The warmth of his body and sound of his heartbeat, which quickened the longer he held me, was not as calming as I, or he, expected. I badly needed a handkerchief.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Yrsarald asked in a voice so tender it belied his über-manly exterior.

I cried for a long time before quieting enough to speak. "I… don't…. I don't know." I pulled my arms away from him and sat back on my heels.

"What's that?" Yrsarald was looking at my left forearm, which he promptly grabbed. "What did you do to yourself?"

"What?"

"Look," he said, indicating the area just below the elbow.

Three small red crescents decorated the skin, caused by fingers that clung too hard. I frowned, and sniffled. "I was upset. I don't have the… I didn't have a way to stop the thoughts. It just happened. I am fine, now. I just… I'm tired, Yrsarald. I am so tired…."

Yrsarald was frowning, deeply. "You have many tattoos. And this?" he said while indicating my scarred forearm. "Is it pain you like?"

"What? Pain?" I closed my eyes and shook my head, then peered at Yrsarald again. "You saw my tattoos?"

"Yes. I tried to cover you up, but you were too warm and kept pushing off the blankets and your towel. I avoided looking elsewhere."

I felt my face flush immediately. "No, I don't like pain," I said as I stood from the bed. "I told you, I was… not… I was not all here last night." I hugged my body with my arms, suddenly feeling cold. I realized it was the lack of Yrsarald's body near mine that caused the temperature change. "How are you so warm? Are you not ill?"

A small smile crossed his face. "Another tale for another day." Yrsarald then stood, collected his top armor, and walked over to me. "If you are tired, rest. But it is clear that you need to talk to someone. So, talk to Wuunferth. I am here as well. Do not keep what is upsetting you inside; you will go  _hrena_  if you do." Yrsarald stepped up close to me. I had an odd feeling that he wanted to give me a kiss, but instead he gave me a lingering, amiable pat on the shoulder with his free hand. When he backed away, I couldn't quite interpret the look in his eyes. My only thought was that the man looked desperately sad, as if something that had been said, or left unsaid, had pained him deeply.

When he was gone, I closed the door, found my journal, and climbed onto my bed. I flipped through the pages until I found the notes of dreams I'd had since arriving in this world, including ones that occurred before I got the journal.

Dragon attacks, trolls, Helgen, barbarians…. I came to the notes I had made about the "dream" Meridia sent me and I tried to make sense of what she had said. I had noted that she had called me "champion" and that she had faith in me. She saw something in my world that was going to happen here, and knew I could help. A god named Arkay saw my marks, or my tattoos, I supposed.

The aching pit of despair inside my gut was not helping me concentrate.

I missed Stenvar.


	29. Dear Diary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long delay. This chapter took a lot of planning. I've also been on vacation. I wrote this chapter while sitting in a cafe in Cambridge, England! heh.

_Month of Heart Fire, Nearing the end of my first year of being in_ _Sky-Rim_ _~~Skyrim~~_

_End of summer, just before first winter (Frostfall begins first winter)_

_(Wuunferth and I think I came to Skyrim during Sun's Dusk, during first winter)_

_Currently leaving for the college of mages_

_~ ~ ~_

_It's hard to write on a jostling horse-drawn cart. The road is so bumpy, it'd almost be easier to ride one of these sturdy Skyrim horses and write at the same time. I can't write in Norren on a road this bumpy. Hell, I can barely write it while sitting at a desk. I'll just continue to write in English for a while I guess._

_The road from Windhelm to Winterhold is cold, and unfortunately not direct. The cart driver, Alfarin or something like that, is a quiet man. Retired soldier, but too young to be from age. I think he was injured. I guess there are some injuries a healer can't fix._

_I ended up splitting the fare with Bird, the courier who travels between the two lands. He had many packages to deliver to Winterhold, apparently the winter supply for the small town. Food and such. The load of barrels and boxes plus three people was so heavy that two horses had to pull the cart instead of the usual one._

_I hope Stenvar gets the note I left for him at the inn soon. Elda said he's always in and out, so I know he'll get it eventually, I just don't know when. Maybe I'll even see him in the town of Winterhold! He said he was going up there, and it's only been a month. Maybe he's still there, and that's why I haven't seen him since he left Windhelm._

_I feel kind of proud of myself that I threw away those notes he wrote to other women. Those weren't my business, and it wasn't very adult of me to care what (or who) he did in his past. Even now, actually. I don't know why I feel such an attachment to him already, but I do. Stenvar and I are just friends. Just friends. But I kind of hope he hasn't been fucking anyone else since he left. I bet he has, though. I don't know why I care. Why do I care? Meridia said he would be my greatest ally. No, most faithful is what she said. That just means he'll be a good friend. I guess I can't complain. I do miss Stenvar, in more than one way. Now that the stress of what happened in Windhelm is gone and so is my PMS, I'm incredibly horny. I hope I see him soon. Maybe Stenvar and I can at least be fuckbuddies._

_But, I have so much to tell him. I really wanted to tell him about the 'dream' Meridia sent me. He seemed to know a lot about the gods. I bet I can read about them at the college._

_I don't want to believe what Wuunferth said about Meridia is true. It just seems unlikely. I don't think I can handle what it is we both think she will want me to do._

"I have decided to leave for the college," I announced to Wuunferth as I wrote notes in my journal. Technically I was still his assistant, but what he really wanted me to do was study from the pile of books he had placed in front of me.

I could see it on his face – he knew that this time I could not be dissuaded from leaving. I had done whatever little part I could to help find the killer in Windhelm, and then the undead woman. There was nothing left for me to do here but sit around and wait for more shit to hit the fan, and I didn't want to do that. I wanted to get stronger in magic, and to do that I needed to go to the college.

"Unless of course you want me to stay here and annoy you a little while longer," I added.

"Heh, no, no, you're right, it's time. As soon as you have studied from those books," he indicated the pile in front of me, "you may go. It will be winter soon, anyway. You don't want to travel that far north in the winter unless you have no other choice."

I sat at his desk taking notes until I just couldn't concentrate any longer. "Wuunferth, tell me about Meridia," I finally asked of him.

"Meridia?" Wuunferth muttered. "What more do you need to know? I thought you said she described herself to you in your dream."

"She did, but… she is like a god, yes? She must…  _do_  something. What do the gods do?"

"Do? Heh, not all that much." The mage continued to work at his alchemy station.

"But… she said she had plans for me. That I… cherish life and death, and that's why she liked me. And I have had dreams…." I set my quill down and gazed at Wuunferth. "Very… bad, bad dreams. Dreams that… make me think of life and death. I am beginning to wonder if this thing her servant saw in my world… was… something related to this."

"Life and death?" Wuunferth set down his mortar and pestle to think. "Yes... Arkay is the god of life and death – of balance. He shares qualities with Meridia who, like Arkay, is said to despise necromancy." His fingers stopped mid-stroke along his beard as he turned his gaze toward me. "Meridia said you 'cherish life and death'?"

I nodded.

Wuunferth stared at me. "Well? Do you?"

"I… yes. I suppose I do. What is dead should stay dead…." I looked away from the mage and to my feet. "I should have stayed dead in my world. Being here is… not natural for me. I am not made for it."

"I disagree," Wuunferth professed. "You have no  _frathela_  training and yet you can enchant and disenchant weapons, cast spells from three out of the five classes, use ancient incantations—"

"I am  _terrified_ , Wuunferth," I cut him off. "I know you say to be brave but I am not. I never am. I  _cannot_  be brave. I have had dreams… so many since Meridia spoke to me. Undead people. All around me. All around everyone. I had these dreams before, in my world, but not like this. This is not normal. I need to go to the college  _now_  to learn to kill what I think is coming."

"Coming? What is coming?"

"What Meridia was trying to tell me – I cherish life and death as much as 'they' do." I approached Wuunferth and tugged on his mage's robe. "They, Wuunferth! The gods! Who? Arkay? Meridia said that name! She said he helped  _make_  me in this world! What if they  _made_ me for this!? I cannot!" I let go of his robe and stepped away. "Arkay. Life, death." I stood with my back to Wuunferth. "Did I ever tell you I have tattoos?"

"No, you did not. What of them?"

"Life, death. Life, death." I hugged myself, half-thinking I should show Wuunferth my tattoos but knowing full well I would have to strip halfway to do so. "A serpent eating its own tail. Cycle of life, death. Rebirth. Arkay saw it, Meridia told me. Arkay saw my tattoo. Life, death, rebirth." I turned back to look at the old mage. "What if they think it's a… sign? It is just a tattoo, nothing more. I am  _not_  their chosen person."

"Meridia said you were her Champion, which means you are on a path to be her chosen person."

"She made a mistake," I argued.

"Doubtful," Wuunferth countered. "What is  _coming_ , Deborah?"

I continued to hug myself. "Undead. Many undead. Everywhere."

"As in an army?"

"I don't know…." I sat in a chair, still hugging tight my own body. "I just see them, in dreams, almost every night. I wonder if Meridia is trying to tell me something."

"You think  _this_ is the terrible thing her servant saw in your world?"

 _Movies. Zombie movies. It had to be that._  "In my world, there are ways to… show… things that are not real. They are…," I searched for the words, "from dreams, and people… they write it down in books, or they…." I couldn't think of how to describe a play, the theater, or movies. "When you look at the people, you think it is real, but it is not. I don't know how to explain better."

"Like illusion magic?" Wuunferth asked.

"No, because it is not magic. It is like a painting, or a map. They are not real, but they are forms of the real thing. In my world, we have a way to make people look like something else. We can make them look… undead, younger or older. We can make people look like anyone. They can have darker or lighter skin or hair… even eyes can look different. Sometimes knives can be used to reshape a face or part of a body. We can even make people look like Khajiit…."

"A human? Changed to be a Khajiit?" I was not surprised that Wuunferth was confused.

"Yes, even the…," I ran fingers out from my nose, "the things cats have. They can be put inside the face by a… healer."

"A  _healer_  would do that to a person!?" Wuunferth's shock was expected.

"Of course. It makes them rich. Well, not many healers would do that. Most would not, I suppose. And they are not true healers – they have very special training in alterations."

Wuunferth just shook his head and continued grinding some alchemic ingredients as he thought about what I had just told him. "So you think," he said while grinding, "Meridia's servant saw something in your world that wasn't even real, and now thinks you are capable of  _vinnig_  an army of the undead?"

"In my world, we say that this is 'tragically funny'," I said without any hint of amusement. "And Arkay… may have seen my tattoo as a sign. It is all such a big mistake, Wuunferth, a horrible mistake. But I don't know if I can tell that to a  _god_! 'Sorry, wrong person. You wasted your god-powers. Goodbye.'" I sighed. "I will go to the college. I will be a mage. Learn to defend myself, learn to heal better. And then I will come back and be your assistant. If the gods still want me after I finish…." My arms tightened around my body and I clutched my elbows. "If they still want me after a year, then maybe I am truly meant for something great. Whatever. Until then, I am nobody from nowhere, learning to be a mage."

"You're so  _soka_  it hurts," Wuunferth muttered. I didn't know what he was saying, but I knew he was being sarcastic.

I sat silent for a moment before responding. "What is 'soka'?"

"It means to be so full of yourself, your head will  _kag_. Obviously," he turned from his alchemy table to glance at me with a straight face, "I was  _yirvig_."

My groan was muted by my face-palm.

* * *

 

_Ulfric was not happy that I was leaving for the college so soon, but he understood it had to be done. I have the feeling that he wants to use me for my knowledge, and what little I know about war and strategy in my own world. Shame I'm not a historian, or I might have something useful to tell him. I don't mind helping him, or the Stormcloaks. From what I've learned about these elves, the Thalmor, the Empire is out of their minds to want to make a deal with them. Why the entire population of this land doesn't just unite against them, I don't know._

_Skyrim really reminds me of ancient Germania and their fight against becoming a Roman province. Of course, I'm not a Roman archaeologist really. At all. But the little I remember about Germania seems similar. I don't remember why the Germanic tribes didn't want to be under Roman rule (maybe some did?) But if someone told me I couldn't worship who I wanted to worship (or worse, HAD to worship someone I didn't want to worship), I would be pissed off, too._

"You wanted to see me?" I asked as I approached Ulfric at his desk in his private quarters. Jorleif shut the door behind us, to give Ulfric and me privacy.

"Indeed," he said, continuing to write something. I stood watching for a few minutes as he finished a letter, dribbled red wax, and stamped the seal. "Please, sit," he said, finally, indicating the same, large, cushioned chairs we had both sat in previously. I sat in the same chair as last time and waited another few minutes for the Jarl to join me.

"So," he began, "off to the college finally, then?"

"Yes," I answered plainly.

"Wuunferth speaks very highly of you," the Jarl continued, not looking at me, but rather watching himself idly spin a ring around one of his fingers. The embedded red jewel caught the light of the candelabras and sparkled upon every revolution. "You have taken to learning enchanting quite easily, it seems."

"Easily?" I scoffed. "No, no. Not easy at all. It took weeks. And my enchants are very weak. But I can learn more at the college."

"Yes," Ulfric agreed. "It would be nice if my soldiers could all have enchanted weapons." His smile was a bit unsettling.

"We need many soul gems, then...," I replied. "They are not common."

"Which is why only officers and commanders have enchanted weapons right now. I would not be against the idea of having you out in the field, either, or perhaps out in the world collecting soul gems for Wuunferth…. We have alchemists at the camps to mix healing potions for the wounded, but no one to recharge our weapons."

"Why don't you hire mages to heal your wounded?"

Ulfric shifted uneasily in his chair. "Most mages want nothing to do with this war. Most  _gilden_ in fact stay out of our way, not taking sides. And there are other reasons…. Plus, mages can only be in one place at a time while potions can be taken anywhere. The ingredients are expensive, however…." He looked up at me. "Do you know  _why_  most Nords – Galmar, for instance – hold such a strong distrust for mages?"

I thought a moment. "Nords think magic is for the weak."

"Hmph, some do, yes. Nords never had a natural  _geth_  for magic to begin with, and prefer to fight their battles with their own hands, or weapons held in their hands. The College used to be more active, however. About… oh, not quite a hundred years ago, Winterhold was partially destroyed by  _relokeren_ , yet the College remained intact. This made some wary of, or even angry at mages. After the Great War, the idea that magic was a dangerous elf-specific talent became engrained in the minds of most Nords, and of course just made matters worse for mages."

Ulfric paused for a good long minute or so before continuing. Sometimes, watching the man, I got the idea that his mind traveled when thinking about certain topics. In this case, it was talk of magic, elves and a past war that triggered some seemingly unpleasant memory. I couldn't tell if the furrows in his brow were from pain or concentration.

"The idea isn't entirely unfounded," he continued. "Magic is indeed dangerous. I'm sure Wuunferth has  _strurkt_  this fact with you."

"Yes, he has told me, many times. Especially the lightning. And necromancy, of course."

"Good. Now, when you go to the College, it would benefit everyone if you concentrated on your healing skills, and enchanting. That is just my own preference, if you are indeed to be hired as Wuunferth's official assistant. I doubt the old man would protest to this request." He paused for a moment. "You don't by any chance have a talent for potions, too?" His eyebrows raised in hope.

I shook my head. "No. I am not good with that kind of thing."

"Shame." Ulfric settled back into his large chair and folded his hands on his lap. "Wuunferth is getting quite old, I'm afraid. Naturally, his assistant would be a preferred  _erstadan_ , whenever the time comes…."

"When he…? Oh. But will I stay here, or go to the… field… to enchant weapons, when I return?"

"That remains to be seen." He fiddled with his ring again. "Perhaps the war will be over in a year. Only the gods know."

"I don't think the gods know our fates so well," I blurted.

That got Ulfric's attention. "No?" He shifted uneasily again. "Perhaps the fate of an entire country, or Empire, is too  _floka_."

"Too what?"

Ulfric huffed a little sigh. "Too complicated."

"Oh. I think it is." I still held back from telling Ulfric about Meridia, and what Wuunferth and I thought she had in store for me. What all the gods and Daedras might have planned for me. I wasn't sure I wanted anyone else knowing about that. Wuunferth, yes; he was my mentor. And Stenvar, my confidant. I desperately wanted to talk to Stenvar about Meridia. I debated several times telling Yrsarald about all the dreams, but decided against it in the end.

"I have to say," I began, "I think this war should not be fought."

The look Ulfric shot me was disapproving, to say the least. "What?"

"The war between Skyrim and the empire. I think the empire is… stupid." I couldn't think of a better word. "The deal they made with the elves is not good. This I agree with you. I am not a person who… prays to gods… but I know that it is wrong to tell others what to do. The Thalmor had no right to tell the Nords to not pray to Talos. It makes me angry, and I am not even Nord. I think you are right. I heard you speaking with Galmar and Yrsarald a few times…." I looked away from Ulfric, not sure how he would react to my eavesdropping. "The dead king, Tor-something? He made a bad decision. A deal with you and the other Jarls in Skyrim, not the empire, would have been better. A good empire allows its people to pray to whoever they want. I told you what happened when they did not in my world. This war now… this is what happens. It is the same. It is a waste of lives, and it is the empire's fault, yes, but… the Thalmor is the enemy." A line from one of the "Hunger Games" books came to mind. I looked Ulfric square in the eyes and reached forward to grasp his hand. While doing so, I wondered if this action was crossing a line. "You need to remember the true enemy, Jarl Ulfric. The people of Skyrim are not your enemy. I  _know_  you know this." I let go his hand and sat back in my chair, still holding the Jarl's gaze.

The man's forehead creased and his eyes squinted as if analyzing me anew. "You sound like you've been speaking with Brunwulf."

"Who?" I asked.

A corner of Ulfric's mouth twitched. "Hmm, nevermind." The Jarl slumped into his chair and stared to his right, out a window. It was snowing again. We sat in silence, watching the large, fluffy flakes fall for some time. "Unfortunately," the Jarl's sighing word broke our silence, "the Empire does not agree. They want peace just as much as any man, but they took the easy way out of war with the Thalmor – twice. They'd suck elven cocks if it was part of the peace  _ret_." He turned to stare at his tented fingers. I couldn't help but blush at his latter remark. "It is too late for talks of peace between the Stormcloaks and the Empire, not after…. Anyway, the Imperials are convinced the Thalmor give a shit about them."

"Can they be…  _un_ convinced?" I asked.

The Jarl moved his head slowly side to side. " _Hmph_. Perhaps I should start a rumor that the Thalmor brought back dragons to destroy everyone."

"Maybe they did," I offered. It wasn't out of the question, after all.

"No. Why bother conquering lands only to have them destroyed by dragons?"

"I don't know," I replied.

I saw Ulfric's knuckles turn white as he clenched his fists before speaking again. "Do you dream of it?" he asked me.

"Helgen?"

The Jarl nodded.

"Yes, often. The black dragon always looks at me, like he is studying me. The whole thing happens again and again. The same thing, every time, just as it was for real."

Ulfric unclenched his fists. He rested his hands on the arms of his chair and traced the carved wood with his fingers. "Whenever I dream of it, a white dragon is always waiting for the black one, there, at Helgen. But he only watches at first, he doesn't move. The black dragon destroys everything and everyone… except for you and me." Ulfric looked up at me with a sort of ferocity in his eyes. "The white dragon saves us."

"Strange."

" _Indeed_." He stressed the word in a way that suggested he didn't believe that I found the concept odd at all.

"Have you seen any white dragons?" I asked.

"No. For all I know, only that one, black dragon exists in the entire world. An evil dragon…. But what bothers me about my dream, is that only  _you_   _and I_  survive Helgen, and are saved by a white,  _good_  dragon. It bothers me, because you are not from this world. You…  _fell_  into this world…. As for me, I'm…." His sentence trailed off with his train of thought. He then leaned forward. "Tell me, how would  _you_ interpret such a dream?"

My jaw dropped slightly. "I… I suppose…. Well, maybe it just means that you and I will be saved by a dragon in the future. It might mean…." It was my turn to shift uneasily in my chair. "It might mean we will take vengeance for Helgen, because people died there. Maybe… I don't know. Maybe we are supposed to work together? To find the black dragon?"

Ulfric said nothing, and merely gave a terse nod.

"Do you think the gods sent you that dream?" I asked the Jarl.

"Perhaps," he answered. "I'll tell you what I think it means. I believe the gods are telling me that you are important, perhaps that they favor you, and that you should be… protected. If I protect you, I too will be saved. Either that, or it means by working together, we can win this war."

"The war? But… what does the dragon have to do with the war?"

The Jarl laughed. "I wish I knew. Maybe it means one day you and I will lead an army of dragons to roast the Thalmor inside their armor."

I forced a smile in response to Ulfric's comment, but mentally I was otherwise preoccupied. Something from our conversation jogged my memory. Meridia had mentioned the dragon… the black dragon at Helgen. She had called him the world-eater. Those words gnawed at my brain; I knew I had heard or read those words before, but I couldn't recall where or from whom.

As Ulfric again watched the snowflakes outside the window, I considered the true meaning of his dream. I had always felt that the black dragon at Helgen was there for me, watching  _me_ , but what if it was there for Ulfric? What if Ulfric was indeed fated to be the Dragon of the North? From what Stenvar had told me, it certainly seemed that way. But in his dream, I too was saved by a white dragon.

Black, bad; white, good. I wondered if Ulfric was just as important to the gods as I apparently was. What if Talos himself was sending him this dream?

World-eater.

World-eater.

I waited impatiently for Ulfric to dismiss me so I could figure out how I knew those words.

* * *

 

_World-eater. I still don't remember where I heard those words before. Wuunferth wasn't familiar with them. I'll have to see if anyone at the college knows. I'll have to forget it for now or it will drive me insane._

_In the end I guess it's a good thing I wasn't allowed to join the Stormcloaks. Now I can become a better mage and not piss my pants while an enemy sword comes down upon me. I really don't know what I was thinking, wanting to join a fucking army. I think I just did it because of Ralof. Ralof. Ralof. The Adonis of Skyrim. God damn Ralof. I don't think I'll ever get the image of his naked, wet, bathing-beauty body out of my mind. I wonder how he is doing, wherever he is. Secretly smooching his Eyleif._ ~~_Eyleif. Eyleif. Ralof and Eyleif, kissing in a tent. I hate everything._ ~~

_Sometimes I think Ralof's rejection is why I so quickly let myself go with Stenvar. Normally I don't do things like that. But, then I remind myself, Stenvar is kind, strong, funny, and helpful. So is Ralof, though, and Ralof is my age. Stenvar has twenty years on me. Also, I had been somewhat drunk. Not totally drunk, just enough to let down my ever-present guard. I wonder if when I see Stenvar again, sober, if I would act the same way. If I would feel the same as I do now. I desired Ralof so much, but I wonder how much of that was just because he was painfully attractive. Stenvar is not ugly, just a bit old for me. And sometimes he stinks of mead. Sometimes he just plain stinks. Most men here do, though, actually. Except for Yrsarald and Ulfric, I've noticed. I think they bathe every day. Maybe in flower-scented oil. Ralof smelled nice too. Sigh._

_But… I think I really, truly like Stenvar. It's weird, but thinking about him makes me feel like a giddy teenager with a crush. But I need to stop thinking about him (and Ralof) so much if I'm going to concentrate on anything else besides my increasing need to get laid._

~~_I keep seeing Ralof's beautiful body and Stenvar's tattoos in my head. All of his tattoos…._ ~~

~~_Stop it! STOP IT._ ~~

_Bird. Bird is a very nice, young man. I forget what Snake said was his real name. He is so blond that his hair is almost white. Big contrast from Snake's black hair. Bird's accent sounded similar to Yrsarald's, so I asked where he was from. A town to the west, in the north, called Dawn Star. I guess Yrsarald is from there too. I'll have to ask him._

_Yrsarald seemed weirdly sad and surprised when I told him I was finally leaving for the college. He knew I was going to leave eventually, so I don't know why he acted the way he did._

"Yrsarald?" I called to him in a soft voice after entering the room that housed the big map of Skyrim. I had set my bags down just outside of the stairway and had laid my fur cloak on top of my bags. It was too warm inside the palace to wear both fur clothing  _and_  a fur cloak.

The mountain-man turned to me, looked behind me at my bags, and frowned. His eyes then shifted to meet mine again. "Finally leaving for the College, then?" he asked in a voice much more quiet than I was used to from him.

"Yeah. It is time. Wuunferth said I was ready, and that it is better to leave before winter comes."

"Mm, true, the road north does not get any better come winter," Yrsarald said in an odd tone that I couldn't place. As I walked closer to him, he stepped away from the map, on which he had been moving around little figurines that resembled troops. He stood frozen in place, arms to his sides, his expression unchanging.

When I stepped up to him, I reached out to stroke the bear paw that covered the left side of his chest armor. I was always amused to see the Stormcloak officers around Windhelm dressed as bears – especially grumpy old Galmar. I often wondered if Galmar was  _forced_  to wear the bear-head helmet-cape thing, and hated every second of it, hence his constant sour mood. The fur of their capes was irresistibly soft though, and I often couldn't resist stroking Yrsarald's armor as if it were a pet bear sitting on his shoulders. I never dared to touch Galmar's in such a way. I was pretty sure I would lose the hand that touched him.

"I wanted to thank you for…," I watched my own fingers drift down the length of the bear paw and graze the sharp claws, "everything." My hand retreated back to my side and I looked up at the man again. "You have been a great friend to me here. I don't think I would have… stayed not crazy if you had not helped me. And I am sorry if I annoyed you by being… almost crazy." I couldn't help my guilt-ridden frown. I knew very well that I went full-on crazy a few times while coping with this whole world-full-of-monsters thing.

"I wasn't annoyed," Yrsarald replied. "And you were not crazy." His hand brushed something off of the fur clothes on my right shoulder. "Your reaction to everything, as I have told you, is normal. And I think you are doing better here than you let yourself believe." His smile was genuine. "When do you return?"

"Wuunferth says most mages… graduate…," I finally remembered the word, "in about a year, so, I suppose just before winter begins, perhaps."

Yrsarald turned from me and looked back to his big map of Skyrim, figurines, and tiny red and blue flags. "The road from here to Winterhold should be safe. Not many Imperials have been seen in the area, as far as I know. But don't forget your sword, just in case."

The man wasn't looking at me anymore, but was rather more interested in the map and his strategically-placed items. He didn't see me walking up behind him, so when I gave him a big hug, he jumped. I was rewarded with a light chuckle from the man, and he backwards-hugged me with his big lumberjack arms. He finally looked at me again after I backed away and gathered my cloak and bags.

"Keep your eyes open," he said.

"Thank you, I will," I replied before heading out into the main hall. On the way out of the palace, I passed Old Man Galmar who looked as curmudgeony as ever.

"See ya, Galmie," I said as I passed him, grinning like an idiot.

I didn't expect Galmar to return the goodbye, and he didn't. Thankfully, I didn't care.


	30. Winterhold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any changes to the layout or style of the College is based on the mod by Sku11M0nkey and can be found on the Steam Workshop website. This modder did a wonderful job. Certain descriptions about the outer areas (the bridge, etc) are just from my own imagination.

On the road to Winterhold, Bird and I shared his fur tent while the cart driver slept in his. Before leaving Windhelm I had bought my own small tent, but after a day on the road Bird and I had bonded well enough to be comfortable sleeping side by side. The bitter cold that settled in when the sun set may have also influenced this decision. I was concerned for the horses, exposed to this cold weather with no shelter, but I was assured the animals were quite hardy and could withstand severe winters. Still, the cart driver, Alfarin, placed a horse blanket on each of them, which made me feel somewhat better.

Bird was a very slender man, so we weren't forced to snuggle up close together. In his tent on the first night, he told me about his life, and about why he became a courier.

"My husband is a student at the College," he explained. "It would be nice if we could just be together, but neither of us was rich to begin with, so I took this job. No one wants to be the courier that goes to Winterhold… but I have a reason to be up there."

"Men can be… married here?" I asked with innocent curiosity.

"Of course they can." His raised eyebrow told me I was nuts for thinking otherwise. "I mean, it isn't as common as a man and a woman, but any marriage is accepted by Mara, so long as it is done out of love. I once  _fulgt_  a wedding between three men and two women; they all married each other. I suppose they each loved one another in some manner as well. Friends, at the very least." Bird gave me a questioning look. "You have a strange accent." He finally asked the question I always waited for. "Where are you from? Do you have different marriage  _sitheren_?"

I gave a little laugh. "Where I am from, many people have come to believe it is… against nature to marry someone who isn't your opposite. One man, one woman, and no more. Of course, this is only in the big cities. Some people in the world still practice marriage in the old ways, much like you do here. Marry for love, or for money reasons. If a man is rich, he can have many wives. If a woman has need for much physical work in the home or on the farm, she can take more than one husband. It is different around the world…. But, in the big cities, many people are beginning to understand marrying someone… _anyone_  out of love is not against nature at all. It is silly to think it is, I think. But in the big cities it is against the law to marry more than one person."

"Against the law? Why?"

I shook my head dismissively. "I have no idea."

"Hmph." At that, Bird lay back on his bedroll and stared at the tent ceiling. He then turned to me. "Are you from High Rock?"

"High-? No. Why does everyone ask me this? I don't know what High Rock is."

Another questioning look from Bird. "You don't…  _know_  what High Rock is?"

I raised my hands in a brief flamboyant shrug. "I suppose it is a country?"

"Well, yes it's a country. A country full of people with a  _geth_ for magic. You look like a Nord but I supposed you could have been from there. If not there, where? Cyrodiil? That's where my husband is from. Well, where his parents were from."

I sat cross-legged on my bedroll, intentionally looking away from Bird and at my folded hands. "I'm not from this world," I said plainly, in a quiet voice as if I was ashamed of the truth. Really, I was just waiting for the man to laugh like Jorleif did. I didn't know why I expected that reaction still, even after so many had accepted my words as truth. As Stenvar had put it, it was hard to believe, but not impossible.

"Truly?" Bird sat up to face me. "How?"

My laugh reeked of exhaustion. I decided to show Bird my journal full of notes written in English before explaining my situation.

"This is your language?" he asked.

"Yes. But I have been learning your language for many months now."

"I can hear that," he grinned up at me. He continued to flip through my journal, mainly paying attention to the sketches and lists of words. "This is unreadable," he said.

"Different way of writing."

"Very different." He closed the journal and handed it back to me. He then lay back down again and folded his arms behind his head. "Well, go on. I enjoy good stories." The smile that spread across his face was so wide it looked like invisible hooks were pulling at the corners of his mouth. He reminded me of a slender, blond Dennis Quaid.

The next three days spent on the road with Bird were a lot more pleasant and less lonely than the first. I kept my journal put away and enjoyed the scenery around us as Bird and I talked for much of the journey. The cart driver occasionally joined in the conversation, but I had the feeling the retired soldier preferred to remain silent. It kept getting colder the further on we traveled, so Bird and I shared a blanket to huddle under while seated on the cart.

The last night before reaching the village, a particularly cold night. I couldn't stop shivering. Bird became audibly annoyed, and all but forced me to be spooned by him. He wrapped both of our blankets around us, and eventually my body warmed. I half-jokingly suggested we offer the cart driver to join our warmth-conserving cuddle, but Bird said the both of them were quite used to this weather. "You're definitely not a Nord," Bird confirmed before we fell asleep.

When we finally arrived at the village, the snow was blowing so hard it stung our faces.  _Not much different from Windhelm_ , I noted.  _Just worse_. Despite the storm, Bird proceeded to unload the transported supplies onto the front porch of the general goods store. I started to help him with a few of the boxes, but he refused; that was part of the job of the cart driver, to be a porter.

"The bridge to the College is at the end of the road, just that way," he pointed further down along the road from the store. "I'll be heading up to the College tonight, so you can wait until I head up there, or see if someone is there to let you in now."

"I want to check the inn first," I said. "A friend of mine might be there."

He grunted his acknowledgment while carrying a barrel to the store porch. "I'll be spending the next few days at the College in Marc's room. I can't wait for you to meet him. I think you'll like him." His huge smile was contagious.

"Alright. I will come and find you later. I am going to the inn now. Thanks again for allowing me to ride with you."

"And keeping you from freezing to death," he added with a wink and a grin.

I liked Bird.

Across the way from the store I saw a sign in front of a large building with "The Frozen Hearth" carved into it. The sign had a tri-corner Celtic knot in the center and other motifs surrounding it. The designs of course were not Celtic; I knew some Norse motifs were similar in form, but I didn't really know the difference. I wondered briefly if this was where those kinds of designs, intricate knots, in our world came from.

The inn was incredibly warm, heated by an expansive central hearth in the main hall. Immediately I felt myself begin to sweat under my furs. After laying down my bags and cloak near the entrance I approached a blond man who was counting money behind the bar. "Hello, I'm looking for a man named Stenvar. He was here recently. Older man, shaved head, steel armor…."

"Yeah, I know Stenvar. He left about a week ago. Don't know where to."

"Oh, alright. Thank you." I turned to leave, but something made me turn back and ask, "Did he leave a note for anyone?"

"Nope, sorry," the man answered. "You need a room? Food?" he asked.

"No, thanks," I said while re-cloaking and hoisting my bags onto my back.

"He did mention something about a package at the store, though," the man said.

I turned back around. "A package?"

"Yeah. May be for you, maybe not. He was talkin' about a  _thokan_ for the shopkeeper there. She makes good stuff. Worth checkin' it out, I s'pose."

"Right. Thanks." As I made to exit the inn, a drunk and possibly homeless patron in a tattered black robe raised his mug to me and mumbled something about needing a "drinking enemy". I was convinced either I misheard the man or he was completely smashed, and I quickly made my way out of the inn.

Bird was still there where the supplies had been laid. "Friend not there?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Left a week ago."

"A shame."

"Indeed. Is the store open?"

"Yeah, go on in. Shopkeeper's name is Birna."

The store was quite cold inside. The small hearth fire did nothing to warm it, possibly due to a draft, or the heat traveling upstairs.

"Come on in," the woman called out. "Looking to sell, buy, or  _bontar_?"

"Ehh, I am wondering if you have something here for me. My name is Deborah. Deb. Something from Stenvar."

"Stenvar! Yes, he did  _thokant_  a  _hetta_  from a snow bear fur be brought in. Let me see…." She walked over to a series of shelves and searched the various packages. "Ah, Stenvar." She pulled the package from the shelf, walked it over to the counter, and opened the piece of folded paper attached to it. " _Please give this to a woman named Deborah upon her arrival_." The blonde woman smiled at me. "That's an unusual name. I suppose he could only mean you." She slid the package across the counter toward me. "If you have any trouble with the fitting, just let me know."

I picked up the note and read it for myself. Sure enough, Stenvar signed his name at the bottom. It looked like a sort of receipt. One snow bear fur  _hetta_. Fur provided. Fifteen gold. Stenvar Grey- _Mun_.

I made a note to self to ask Stenvar what his full last name was.

There was another, small note tucked into the folds of the package.

_Deb,_

_I was almost eaten by a bear the other day. He had a nice_ moh _and since he didn't need it anymore I decided I deserved to have it. Hopefully you'll find this here whenever you get to Winterhold. Wouldn't want those pretty little_ eyren _of yours freezing off. Like I said, cold as fuck up here._

_Stenvar_

I laughed out loud after reading his last comment. This note seemed less hurried than the one before, the handwriting less shaky. I wondered if he wrote the previous one while riding his horse.

I opened the package to find something made out of white fur; very soft and very thick white fur. I examined it until I recalled what the receipt said.  _Hetta_. I recalled that " _hetta_ " was what Wuunferth called the mage's hood Stenvar had sent previously, I and flipped the object around again until I could see that, indeed, the object was a hood.

"Do you have a looking-glass?" I asked the shopkeeper.

"Looking-glass?" Birna had to think about the question for a moment. I didn't know their word for "mirror" and hoped she knew what I meant. "Oh, yeah, upstairs. Follow me."

Luckily, the hood was nothing like Galmar's bear-head helmet-cape thing. There were no ears or anything to indicate the fur was from a bear. It was just a simple, white, fluffy garment that curved around my face in a way that would be perfect for blocking out the wind from the sides. It draped over my shoulders enough to easily be tucked under my fur cloak.

"How much to have this sewn onto my fur cloak?" I asked Birna.

"Oh, nothing really. Five gold. I have some time now, if you like, while my brother helps Bird with the supplies."

"Yes, that would be nice," I said, sliding the hood off of me and shuffling out of my cloak.

"Would you like the white fur sewn over or under? I would recommend over."

"Yes, I agree."

"Great. I'll have this done in just a little while. Help yourself to some water while you wait."

The hood-cloak hybrid turned out lovely. Birna even fashioned a little toggle and loop to the base of the hood to help hold it closed in windy weather. It was perfect, and particularly necessary while I headed toward the archway that led to the bridge to the college. The stone bridge was wide enough for a small cart, or two people to walk side by side. As I walked further on I came to a small pool of glowing blue water. I wondered if this was the magical water Wuunferth said the mage's robes were enchanted in. When I approached the pool, the blue water shot up in a burst of glowing mist. It startled me and I jumped back, thankfully stopped by the waist-height stone wall of the bridge. I continued on my way until I came to another pool of glowing water, and again it erupted into a mist.

Continuing along the bridge, I saw a tall, slender figure further on, standing near an enormous archway. The sides of this section of the bridge had been replaced, it seemed. The stones here were far less time-worn than the rest, and their edges were much more sharp.

At the top of the escalating bridge stood the figure, and upon my approach I immediately noticed it was a light-yellow-green-skinned elf with yellow eyes. What I was pretty sure was a female elf was enveloped in a thick fur hooded cloak, and she was glowering at me. I did my best to ignore her as I passed, and I was once again greeted by an eruption of blue, glowing mist from a pool of blue water. I made my way around the pool but stopped when I saw two massive closed doors. I turned back to the elf woman, who was still watching me intently.

"Are the doors unlocked?" I asked her.

Her mouth opened slightly as if she thought to say something but decided against it. After a long, silent moment in the blowing snow, she finally walked up to me and said, "I do not know your face."

"No, I am new. I came to join the college. Can I go in?"

"How did you walk through the  _laspanen_?"

"Walk through what? I walked on the bridge." I looked past the woman to the bridge behind us. "Is that the wrong way? I didn't know."

One of the elf woman's eyebrows cocked, and her lips tweaked into a sort of confused snarl. "The  _laaspaanenn_ ," she enunciated before raising her voice to a stern near-shout. "How did you cross them!?"

"I… walked?" I was utterly confused. For a brief moment I wondered if the bridge I'd walked on was invisible to everyone but me.

The elf woman stepped into my personal space. "You  _walked_  through  _laspanen_.  _Walked_. Did you use a resistance potion!? That is not acceptable. And how did you light the  _somirken_!?"

"No potion. I walked. What is wrong? I am sorry, I don't understand the problem."

"You can't pass the  _laspanen_  without being  _veit_  permission. If I do not know your face,  _you haven't been_ veit _permission_. I will ask you  _one more time._ " The elf woman was nearly a head taller than me, so when she completely demolished the gap remaining between us, I found myself staring up into her nostrils. "How did you pass through the  _laspanen_!?"

" _Gods_  Faralda. No wonder we have so few students if  _this_ is what they are greeted with." A petite middle-aged woman with short brown hair plodded up to us from inside the college. "What's taking so long? I saw the  _somirken_. Is this a new  _umsekand_?"

"No, Mirabelle," the elf woman turned to the short woman, "this is  _not_ a new  _umsekand_. She was not given my test."

"Then why were the  _somirken_  lit?" the petite woman, Mirabelle, asked. I recognized the name – Wuunferth had written me a letter of recommendation to give to her.

" _I don't know_ ," the elf woman stressed. "They just… lit," she finished her sentence with a flourish of her hands.

The petite woman planted her fists on her hips and looked me up and down. "Another Nord, huh? Same as the other one, with a sword at her hip," she said, gesturing to my small, sheathed sword attached to the belt that was sewn onto my cloak.

I bit my lip. "I am better with my lightning than my sword."

"Indeed, just like the other one." The petite woman crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared at me. "Well, Nord, show me this lightning of yours."

"You can't let the  _umsekand_  choose her own test, Mirabelle," the elf woman spoke.

"Walking through the  _laspanen_  isn't enough of a test for you?" Mirabelle responded to the elf woman with a very satisfying amount of snark. She then turned back to me. "On with it – the lightning, please."

After setting my bags down and taking off my fur gloves, I raised my hands in front of me, palms up in case I accidentally sent out bolts of lightning. I soon felt my skin being pricked by a million pins and needles as small white-hot sparks illuminated my flesh from fingertip to wrist. I attempted to perform what Wuunferth had taught me only days before I left for the college. His careful instructions replayed in my memory.

"Allow the energy to be received back into you," Wuunferth had said as he watched me. "Do not cast the magic upon yourself, but rather let the magic connect, like a circle of give and take. Cast with the right, receive with the left. The less it hurts, the better you're doing. This way, your energy is conserved, but the power gathered between your palms will be massive. Once released, your energy will be somewhat  _utarma_. You won't be able to do this more than twice in  _rad_. So… don't miss."

Standing before the petite human woman and the giant elf woman, I watched the ball of lightning form between my palms. It grew bigger and brighter until it was the size of a melon and none of us could look directly at it for more than a second. I stood there for several more seconds, staring at my examiners, letting them understand what I was doing. I then looked around us until I spotted something to aim at.

Yrsarald had allowed me to practice on the straw dummies in the basement of the palace in Windhelm until the day I finally got this spell right and the dummy exploded, sending straw and linen molecules all over the training room. From then on, I was only allowed to practice on rocks. I couldn't make rocks explode.

At least not yet.

In the far distance, to the side of the village, I spotted a dead tree that was barely more than a stump. "To your right," I said to my examiners before releasing my ball of electricity, aiming for the dead tree. They watched the white-hot ball of light fly away from them, and jumped back when the dead tree exploded into millions of splinters.

The stares of disbelief that I received from the both of them were incredibly satisfying. Before either of them said anything, I crouch down in front of my smaller knapsack and searched for the letter of recommendation Wuunferth had written for me weeks ago. When I found the now-crumpled, sealed letter, I handed it to the petite woman. The letter had her name written on the outer fold.

Mirabelle opened the letter after giving me yet another questioning look. When she finished reading, her eyes darted up to meet mine. "Wuunferth the Unliving? Truly?"

"Truly," I affirmed.

Just then, a short, dark-green-skinned elf woman and a human man with a high-bridged nose walked past us and down the bridge toward the village. Neither of them paid any attention to what was happening between me and my examiners.

"Well, Faralda…," Mirabelle finally spoke again. She turned to the elf woman. "Satisfied?"

"Does it matter?" she asked, obviously feeling a bit subverted.

"No, not this time," Mirabelle turned back to me. A small smile crept across her face.

When Mirabelle gently grasped my arm to lead me inside the college, a white owl with black spots soared by to our left. Until then, I didn't know the bird existed in Skyrim.

Mirabelle led me through the doorway and across a courtyard. When we approached another pool of glowing water that sat in front of a statue of a robed mage, the same glowing mist erupted as tall as the statue. Mirabelle stopped in her tracks and turned to look at me. "Are you doing that?" she asked.

"No. What is it? The water is… it has light."

The petite woman pursed her lips and looked up at the statue. "The water itself is enchanted. It reacts to magic. Faralda was concerned, because when a new  _umsekand_ passes her entry test, she lights the  _somirken_  to alert me. Apparently, you did that for yourself…." She turned back to me. "Did you use  _habo_?"

"'Habo'? I don't know what that is."

"Surprising for a student of Wuunferth's," she said with an eyebrow raised. "As for the  _laspanen,_ " we continued walking, and soon entered a building and turned left, "they should have stopped you at the first arch, alerting Faralda to your presence. How you just walked through…." She shook her head. She opened a smaller door, behind which were stone steps leading up. "Up you go," she said to me. We walked up the spiral of steps until we reached the second level with an archway leading to a room full of people, from what I could hear. "Keep going up," she said. With a grunt, I forced my laden body to climb another flight. The third level had a closed door. Mirabelle knocked three times.


	31. Well, Bless My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad you all are excited for Deb to go to the College! Finally, right? I've been itching to write out this stage of her life. Also, don't expect too many canon quest lines here. The story will be influenced by the game's events and characters, but I will be altering the plot points.

"What is it?" a gruff voice called from behind the door.

"Great _-_ Mage, it's Mirabelle. I have a new  _umsekand_  I think you need to meet."

I heard grumbling and then the shuffling of items inside the next room. I wasn't sure what or who I expected to see behind the door, but a light blue-purple-skinned man with a fantastic black, braided beard and bright blood-red eyes would not have been one of my guesses.

The man with the red eyes behind the door was surely some sort of elf. I had seen other red-eyed elves in Windhelm, but hadn't really spent any time around them. I wondered what the difference was between the red-eyed elves, the tall yellow-skinned elves, and shorter elves like Faendal.

The elf mage before me wore a purple velvet hooded robe with silver linear designs and tufts of white fur at the sides. I thought I caught a glimpse of several glowing rings on his fingers, and a large metal pendant that was sewn into the chest of his robe gave off a faint blue shimmer. They were enchanted, likely with something that increased one's magical potency. At least, that's what such enchantments looked like when Wuunferth let me watch him enchant various items.

"This is highly unusual, Mirabelle," said the elf mage. His tone carried some annoyance. I realized I may have been interrupting his dinner.

"I know, Great -Mage," the petite woman began, "I would never have bothered you if  _athstaethen_  were different, but I believe this requires your immediate  _gaumar_."

"What, her?" was all he asked, indicating me.

"Yes. This  _umsekand_  somehow walked straight through our  _laspanen_. Faralda says the  _somirken_  lit without the use of magic."

The elf mage looked toward me and stared a moment with narrowed eyes. Those blood-red eyes; they were terrifying. "A Nord?" he finally asked.

I shook my head. "Not Nord, no," I answered.

The elf mage pursed his purple lips, and turned back to Mirabelle. "Was she given the entry test?"

"Of a  _hatt_ , yes."

"What do you mean, 'of a  _hatt_ '?" Old Red Eyes asked in the same annoyed tone.

"She created a lightning ball, Savos, a powerful one, and  _brest_  an old tree. Not exactly the skill of a new-beginner. But it's the  _laspanen_  I was most concerned with. She is the student of Wuunferth…." Mirabelle handed the elf mage Wuunferth's recommendation letter.

"Wuunferth?" The elf mage took the letter and again turned to me and gave me a lasting glance. "Tell me,  _umsekand_ , what news from Windhelm? Have they stopped that killer yet? Does he still need a list of our students and graduates?"

I heard a small sound come out of the petite woman. I turned to Mirabelle and caught a confused look on her face. "No…," I turned back to the elf mage. "No we don't need a list. It was a man named Calixto. He…," I nervously scratched my overheating fur-clad arm, "he built a woman."

"He what?" Mirabelle gasped her words.

I bit my lip. I knew necromancy was supposed to be illegal, and I wasn't even sure I should be talking to anyone about what happened in Windhelm.  _Too late now_ , I scolded myself. "Calixto killed many women. He cut their bodies to pieces… harvested parts – every part, some more than one. He built a woman. He built his sister."

The elf mage didn't respond, but turned around and retreated into the room he emerged from. Mirabelle gave me a nudge to follow, and we did. She was about to shut the door behind us, but the elf mage's words stopped her.

"Mirabelle, thank you for bringing this  _umsekand_  to my attention. You may leave us now."

"But, Savos I—"

"Thank you," Old Red Eyes repeated, flashing a forced smile.

Mirabelle showed herself out.

Looking around the room where we now stood, I instantly knew this elf mage was important. Mirabelle did call him "Great Mage", after all. His room was essentially a giant dome with a garden in the center. There was no direct sunlight, but rather several white-hot floating balls of light may had apparently allowed the plants and tree to grow. I did notice that part of the high ceiling appeared to have a hole in the center above the garden, which may have allowed for an intake of rain. Or, rather, snow, since it likely never rained this far north. Then again, the hole in the ceiling may have just been a hole for air, because if floating white-hot balls of light could allow plants to grow without sun, then perhaps they didn't need water, either. The rest of the room was filled with shelves and vaults, display cases, tables and chairs, and the man's bed.

The sound of a clearing throat woke me from my daze.

"So," the elf mage began, "after so long, a student of Wuunferth's arrives at our gates, passing through our  _laspanen_  unharmed, killing innocent trees…." He spun on his heels to face me. "Take off your cloak; I know you must be sweating like a  _hjorem_  in Sun's Height under all those furs." He turned to a pair of simple wooden chairs by a square dining table and pulled one out from under the table for me. I shrugged off my bags and draped my cloak on the back of the chair before sitting. The elf mage poured water from a jug into two cups and then joined me at the table.

"Ehh, if it is alright, I will take off my furs too. It is very warm in here." The elf mage cocked an eyebrow and I immediately course-corrected. "I have linen clothing, under."

Old Red Eyes made an "as you wish" gesture and I peeled my fur clothes off of my sweaty body. Despite no fire burning in this huge room, I was incredibly warm. I was sure my linen underclothes stunk, but I didn't care. I wore flower-scented perfumes for a reason.

"Better," I said, sitting down again.

The elf mage's eyebrow was still cocked. "You were wearing that before?" he pointed at my linens and furs.

"Yes. It is as cold as—," I stopped myself from using language not likely suitable for this audience. "I am not used to the cold here."

"No, I meant, no mage's robe. None at all. No enchanted jewelry – nothing?"

The glint of his own glowing gems suggested such adornments were expected of a mage.

"No, my mage's robe is in my bag. I don't own any jewelry."

"But, to create a  _ball of lightning_  takes a huge amount of energy. I'm surprised you're still  _medvitana._ "

I just shrugged.

" _Hmph_." The elf mage stared at me while he drank his water. "My name is Savos Aren. I'm the Great _-_ Mage of the College. "I imagine Wuunferth has mentioned me."

"Yes, he did." I stared at Old Red Eyes for a moment. "Great" was not the right word for his title, although that's what " _lot_ " meant –  _"lotlaza"_ , great mage. Maybe rather he was the Arch-Mage. "Savos Aren, leader of the college of mages, my name is Deborah. I came to Windhelm over one month ago. I did not know many things about magic or… being a mage. I did not know a lot of things…. I stayed to learn from Wuunferth, and then events happened. I… helped, a small part, to find the killer. Calixto. Some people thought it was Wuunferth who killed those women. It was not. Calixto was doing necromancy. Wuunferth does not know how he succeeded in building a woman and making her live."

"He made his creation  _live_!?"

"Yes." I frowned at the visual memory. I would never forget the site of the undead woman cut into pieces on the floor of the home of that awful demon-child. "Wuunferth thought maybe that something in the stars at that moment made Calixto able to give life to the created woman, because the man himself was not a strong mage."

"Indeed, he wasn't," Savos Aren, Savos the Arch-Mage, Savos the Red-Eyed, recalled. "I remember Calixto. He practiced solely Restoration magic, and he wasn't very good. Now we know why – he spent too much time practicing necromancy." The elf mage sighed, leaned forward in his chair, and laid his face firmly against his palm. A moment later, the mage righted himself and continued. "Do you know how Wuunferth acquired his title?"

I just shook my head.

Savos took a sip of water before continuing. "Wuunferth was  _utsadt_  to necromancy at an early age. His  _barna_  desire to control the dead or undead was  _ungela_. I was his  _minda_  so very many years ago…. He was always talented, as you have no doubt figured out for yourself. If he wasn't, Jarl Bjorn would never have hired him as  _rikhalaza_. Wuunferth acquired his title because of his past  _fikta_  in necromancy; a sort of self-punishment for his  _heimska_. No doubt he still remembers some of his early training in the dark arts."

Wuunferth. Necromancy. Undead. Wuunferth the Unliving. "That is why he is called 'unliving'?" I asked.

"It is." Savo's long fingernails tapped against his silver goblet. "A cryptic self-reminder to practice only magic of the light, not of the dark."

"Some people in Windhelm thought Wuunferth was the killer…. Maybe it was from this title."

The mage's lids narrowed over his red eyes. "They didn't…?"

I nodded. "They did. They found journals and it truly read as Wuunferth's words. They arrested him, and me. But it is fixed now. Another journal was found and then Calixto was found dead…."

"Dead?"

"Eaten."

" _Eaten_!?"

"Yes. By his sewn-sister, who conquered him, then escaped. But she was somehow killed by a…." I stopped myself when I remember Wuunferth urging me not to speak to anyone of the boy with the devil-magic and left out that detail. "A boy killed it. Hit her on the head with a fire-poker." I made an inelegant "splat" sound. "She was then burned."

The Arch-Mage slouched into his chair and tented his fingers in front of his beard. "There is a day of  _bjotha_  that could have allowed a necromancer to raise a creation like that, but I have never heard of this happening." He sat up straight again and waived himself off. "Enough talk of necromancy; the  _hitir_  will be discussed among the  _rikhalaza_ and mage's  _mulav_. What I'm truly interested in right now is how an  _umsekand_  entered my college without a  _fylgtan_. Care to explain?"

The elf mage's fingertips tapped together in succession as he stared at me with the full intention of an explanation. But what he wanted me to explain, I had no idea, since I understood maybe half of what the man said. I bit my lip, something I just then realized was becoming a habit, and looked away from him, unsure of how to proceed. "I…," my fingers nervously rapped on the arms of my chair. "I only started learning magic when I met Wuunferth. Before that, I knew I could make lightning and heal, but that was all. I could not control the magic well. But magic, all magic… it was new. I did not have it before…."

"Y—" the mage cut himself off and shifted in his chair. I turned to look at him and thought I saw a dim flash of light in his terrifying red eyes. "You have only been learning magic for a month?"

"Yes," I confirmed.

"One month."

"Yes. It is why I know nothing. I can kill with lightning and heal the dying and find my way to someone or an object," Wuunferth had taught me the latter spell after the undead woman was found, "but not always. The magic doesn't work every time I need it. But I did not grow up learning about magic... so I think this is why. I am new here, new to magic, and I need to learn."

"Most Nords do not learn magic," he said.

"I am not a Nord."

The next hour or so was spent explaining to Savos Aren who I was and how I came to be in Skyrim. He had many questions, some that I could not answer, but I believe he was satisfied by what he learned. I even told him about my dream encounter with Meridia.

"And  _thvi_ , you have no idea how you broke through the  _laspanen_ and lit the  _somirken_."

My smile must have reeked of self-pity. "I don't know what those words mean."

Savos's laugh was not from amusement, but perhaps rather exhaustion. "Deborah, you must understand…. I have never personally  _vattet_  what you have done today, here, at the College. No one else would have, either, considering I have been here the longest. It is… nearly… unheard of."

"Nearly?"

The elf mage nodded slowly. "There are… legends, you could say, of others like yourself who have a similar ability. Have you learned of Magnus?"

"Magnus…. He made the world."

"Indeed. And what about Akatosh?"

"Akatosh… I heard that name before, but I do not know anything."

"Akatosh is the god of time, among other things…. He is said to bless his  _zeniken_  with enhanced magical energies." Old Red Eyes stroked his braided beard. "You said that Meridia had to… create… your body when she brought you here?"

"She said… Azura and… Arkay helped. They took my… ehh… the thing that makes me  _me_ , perhaps my soul… from my world and made me here. Similar if rebuilding a broken glass jar once broken… I think."

Savos continued to stroke his beard. The single braid was long and thick. The motion was hypnotizing. "When was this, that you came to be in Skyrim?"

"Sun's Dusk, we think. We are not sure, Wuunferth and me."

"Not yet a year!?"

I nodded.

The elf mage sighed. "And when, about, were you born? In your world…."

"Oh, ehh, the spring. Middle of spring."

This time, the elf mage's laugh was indeed from amusement.

"What is funny?" I asked him.

Savos stood from his chair and walked over to a colossal bookshelf. His fingernails strummed the bindings as he walked slowly down the length of the shelves. Finally, he pulled a purple book from the top shelf and walked it over to me.

"Mid-spring. Rain's Hand," the mage said while thumbing through the book's pages. "'The Mage is a Guardian Star-sign whose Season is Rain's Hand, when magic was first used by men.'" He smiled, and his red eyes flashed. "I never quite understood what that meant… perhaps that's when the world was created, hmm?" He turned the page. "'His _nothen_  are the  _Laerling_ , the _Atronach,_ and the Ritual _._ Those born under the Mage have more magic and talent for all kinds of spellcasting, but are often  _paroka_  and  _avegaletha_.'" He looked up from the page. "Sound familiar?"

"I… well, I understood having more magic, but…."

"It is your star-sign, in your world at least. The Mage. Not surprising, honestly. And you came to Skyrim in Sun's Dusk…." Savos flipped a few more pages and read from the book again. "'The  _Atronach_  is one of the Mage's  _nothen_. Its Season is Sun's Dusk. Those born under this sign are natural mages with deep reserves of magic, but they cannot  _mynd_  magic of their own.'" His fingers rapped on the page after he read the passage, and he didn't speak for a few minutes. "Well," he finally spoke again, "I believe this explains your qualities somewhat."

"What? What explains me? I don't understand…."

" _Hmph_. How Wuunferth missed this, I don't know. Perhaps it took you passing through magical  _laspanen_ to fully understand. You came to Skyrim in Sun's Dusk. You were  _created_ , here, by gods and Daedra, in Sun's Dusk. In a sense, you were  _born_  here, in Sun's Dusk. Twice-born…. And, not only that, your star-signs are matched. Incredible…."

"Star-signs…. You mean, things in the sky? Shapes made with stars that… people match with times of year?"

"Precisely that. Was it the same season in your world when you came to Skyrim? Late autumn?"

"Yes. Our year cycle is very similar."

Savos stroked his long braided beard again. He closed the book and gazed at me for a while. "The  _laspanen_ that protect the College are essentially a  _theta_  shield of magic. Your star-sign, the  _Atronach_ , may have the ability to  _glep_  magic into themselves, because they, supposedly, cannot  _mynd_ magic on their own." He tented his fingers again, touching the tips in succession from first to last, and back again. I watched his rings put on a faint light show. "I myself don't put too much trust in star-gazing, but… well, there are coincidences, at the very least. Would you like to hear my  _kenn_?"

"'Kenn'?"

"What I think happened…." The elf mage looked as giddy as a young researcher thrilled to speak to someone about his work.

I really liked Savos Aren. "Yes," I answered.

"If all that Meridia said to you is true, and it appears that it is, I believe what happened is when your body was remade in this world, it needed to be brought to life somehow. Arkay is the god of life and death, of balance. Meridia is similar. Azura rules the in-between. But that spark of life… that comes from Akatosh, and  _lokaar_  from Magnus. Now, I'm not certain of course, but it's quite possible that such a  _forfarant_ would require not just the help of the gods, but perhaps… a part of them."

"A part of the gods?"

"Most likely, yes. I would bet that the reason you could enter College grounds was that you were created by the gods, and in a way contain part of them in your very blood, or even your soul. You said that your body was not pulled through a portal, but rather your soul, or  _kjarn,_  was. Were your body taken here in full, we would not be having this conversation. But your body had to be remade from what the gods brought here. Akatosh, like Magnus, creates life, since magic is, in a way, life. It was likely he who provided the means for Arkay and the rest to remake your body. Perhaps even your very soul had to be remade to… fit… into this world. Only the gods would know. You are, it would seem, a Child of Akatosh, and I would not be surprised if his blood runs within you."

I didn't really notice when the Arch-Mage stopped speaking. My mind exploded at the first thought of having the blood of the gods inside me.

"Are you alright? Deborah…."

"What?" My eyes darted up to meet two huge red ones, wide open and full of concern for my mental welfare. "Oh, yes, I am…."

"Shall I continue?"

"Please."

"Alright. Now, I believe that because of when you were created both here and in your world, as well as, or, more likely because of your god- _arv_ , you either have a natural resistance to magic or you can  _glep_  magic into yourself and use it to create your own, which is… unusual. Have you ever been healed, or hit with magic?"

"Healed, yes." The Doctor Lady in the cave had healed me. "I do not think any magic has hit me, though. Just healing."

"So… if you are resistant to magic, perhaps that does not include  _astuga_  magic. Either way, resistance or  _glepon_ …." The mage shook his head, but his look of concentration slowly gave way to a smile. "A student of the College, blessed by the gods…  _Frab!_ "the elf mage suddenly clapped his hands as he practically shouted the last word with an unexpected amount of glee.


	32. Flames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any change to the layout or style of the College is based on either the mod by Sku11M0nkey or my own imagination (and realism).
> 
> Special thank you to Ghost_Nappa for the "flicker" of inspiration.... heh.
> 
> Disclaimer: Spell tome contents in this chapter and others are my own creation. All other book texts are from the game itself, though words may be changed to fit Deborah's understanding of the Norren language.

The student's hall was unlike any dormitory I'd ever seen. The central space was expansive with another pool of glowing magical water in the center. This pool, as well as the pool in the courtyard, was permanently spurting glowing blue magic mist toward the ceiling of the hall and out of a hole in its center. When I stood close to the mist, I could hear the faintest twinkling sound.

Lining the room were two dozen doors leading to two dozen living spaces, and I was told more were on the second and third floor. The instructor's hall was a parallel to this one, so I was told. Lighting the student's hall were the same white-hot balls of light that I'd seen in the Arch-Mage's quarters. I made a mental note to ask someone what they were.

"This is your bedroom.  _Please_  keep it  _clean_ …." The look Mirabelle gave me suggested this college was not much different from colleges in my world. "It's past mealtime, but do help yourself to any of the food on the second floor. Just remember that there are  _other_  students living in this hall."

I did not approve of her curious raise of an eyebrow, as if she knew about my tendency to both overeat and succumb to emotional eating. Perhaps, even with the fur clothes I had put back on before leaving Savos's quarters, Mirabelle could tell I was chubby. I had, after all, gained a bit of weight back since my time in Riverwood. Too many pies. Compared to Mirabelle's petite, slim form, I was a hippo.

"Everyone has gone to bed already, so I suggest you do the same. If you want to bathe before doing so, the bathing hall is on the lowest level of this  _bigin_. Towels and soaps are there already. Breakfast is served at first light. The dining hall, by the way, is the hall below the Arch-Mage's quarters. After breakfast you will meet with the tailor who will take your  _malingen_  for your College robes. After that… Savos tells me you wish to better your lightning magic, so you will meet with Faralda, who will assess your skills further." Mirabelle huffed a sigh. "Any questions?"

"No. Thank you, Mirabelle," I said before she immediately turned and left the hall. I wondered if she could smell me, too, given her comment about the bathing rooms.

She was right, though, I did need a bath. I grabbed my mage's robe and headed downstairs. There was no door to the lower floor, just an archway from the stairwell, and I felt the hot humid air immediately. A vent at the center of the hall ceiling did little to suck out the steam. And then I heard what sounded like falling water – like a shower – and women laughing. I walked further into the bathing hall and realized that not only did the college have bath tubs, the college had a shower.

To my left were bathing stalls with deep, elevated stone tubs. Metal pipes ran to and from the tubs, and round valves looked to be the controls for the intake and outtake of water. Each stall had a front privacy curtain, all pulled back while out of use. To my right was apparently a large shower stall. The sound was unmistakable.

The other sounds I heard were also unmistakable. Two women were having very a good time. I did my best to tune them out.

I found soft hide towels, soaps, and oils on a metal shelf at the front of the bathing hall. The round valve beside the tub I chose indeed released a large amount of hot water into the tub very quickly. I realized that every bathtub I'd seen and used in Skyrim was different from the others, but they all used the same sort of metal pipes. They weren't gold or bronze, I didn't think, but some metal of a similar color.

As soon as I turned off the valve I could hear the two women's moans and giggles again. Sinking my head below the water drowned out the sounds of the pleasure I wasn't having.

Back inside my room, clean and smelling of pine, I sat at my small desk and began to add more words to the lists I had begun in my journal, and began some new lists.

Random:  _kenn,_ idea/theory/hypothesis.

Expressions:  _frab_ , fabulous/splendid.

College:  _umsekand,_ applicant? _; laspan,_ barrier/wall (not shield – ward?) _; somirk,_ signal _; lotlaza,_ Arch-Mage _._

Magic:  _brest,_ burst _._

As I carefully wrote the English and Norren words with my quill, I heard a knock at my door. It was Bird, and standing behind him was a very handsome man with dark brown hair and honey-brown eyes, two small golden loops pierced through his right earlobe, and a high-bridged nose – the same man that had passed me by while I was outside the college.

Bird put his fingers to his lips and closed my door behind him and who I assumed was his husband, judging by their matching golden rings that they both wore on their right index fingers. "I see they finally let you in…," Bird said quietly, grinning after he finished his remark.

"I had to see the Arch-Mage first," I admitted.

"Faralda and Mirabelle did  _not_  look happy," the handsome man noted.

Bird elbowed him in the side. "This is Marc. He's a full  _laerling_  now. Marc, this is Deborah, the woman from another world."

I did my best to hold in my sigh.

" _Marcurio_ ," the handsome man corrected Bird. "Marcurio Liore." Bird's husband leaned forward, grasped my hand, and planted a gentle kiss. "Bird hasn't shut up about you since he arrived. And here you are, already causing upset."

" _Kffft_ ," Bird made the sound in Norren that was the equivalent of the English "shhh". Coincidentally, "shhh" was short for "shush", and "kffft" was short for "keft", Norren for the same.

"Well she  _has_ ," Marcurio said to Bird, then turned back to me with a smirk.

"Have you  _avgort_  alright?" Bird asked me.

I nervously scratched my still-wet scalp. "Have I what?"

Bird grinned. "Made yourself comfortable..."

"Oh, well, yes. I bathed and am writing before I sleep."

"Good. I just wanted to say hello and introduce you to Marc—urio," he gave his husband an annoyed look. "His room is two down from yours, that way," he pointed to my right. "Why don't I come by in the morning? We can all have breakfast together."

"Alright. Yes," I said, and then turned to Marcurio. "Pleased to meet you, Marcurio."

The handsome man with the high-bridged nose either preferred being called by his full first name, or was making a small spectacle of himself just for me, which Bird found annoying. Either way, I knew I would like him as much as I liked Bird.

* * *

 

Apparently, the other students had heard about what happened when I entered college grounds. I got the feeling that many of them were not thinking very fondly of me, all except for two very flirtatious women who ignored everyone but each other – assumingly the same ladies who were enjoying themselves in the shower the night before. One of the women was short and dark-skinned with auburn hair and striking silver-blue eyes. I hadn't seen anyone with her skin color before in Skyrim, and wondered where she came from. The other woman was tall and blonde with pale gold-pink skin and had a slight point to her ear. She didn't look like any elf I'd ever seen before. I thought perhaps she was part human.

Looking around the dining hall, I took in the mixed group of students. Most were human or elf, but the humans looked smaller than the Nords I knew. There were even three Khajiit students, and one of them was female, the first I'd seen of their kind. Seeing two human-like breasts on a cat-woman was odd, to say the least. There were no Argonian students, I noticed.

"They're just wondering why you met the Arch-Mage on your first night," Marcurio said as we sat down to eat. He must have noticed their stares, too. "Most students don't meet him until they graduate, or during the various ceremonies and rituals throughout the year. And even then, nobody  _talks_  with him…."

"I was in trouble," I said. "They thought I was maybe attacking, I don't know. But after I explained myself to Savos, he knew I did not know. I did not know about the wards. He thinks—" I stopped myself mid-sentence. I didn't know how much I should say. "He thinks I have a natural ability to walk through magic-shields, that is all."

"Because you're from another world?" Bird asked.

"Maybe," I answered. After all, what Savos thought was the truth may not be true in the end. My eyes drifted back to the amorous couple seated a few tables away from us. "Why do those two women not stop kissing?" I asked, pointing my fork in their direction.

Marcurio chuckled. "Elodie and Osana. They got married last month. I suppose they're still on their wedding-travel."

"Wedding travel?" I asked.

"Mm, yeah," Bird finished chewing. "The  _vogjarund_  people take after their wedding. Marc and I went to this mountain cabin…." A blushing smile crossed Bird's face.

 _Honeymoon_ , I decided.

I finished my porridge before asking, "Is everyone here… like you? Like those women?"

"What, married?" asked Bird.

"No, no… like… with the same person. Man man, woman woman." I didn't know their word for "homosexual".

The snort that came from Bird's nose was all the answer I really needed, but he elaborated, and ignored the annoyed glance his husband shot him. "No, not at all." He looked around the room. "There's quite the mix here. I myself have been with both men and women – ah, well, just the one man…," he smiled at Marcurio. "As much as I'd like to say we  _firth_  the privacy of others… even I know everybody's private lives, and I don't even live with them."

"It's difficult not to notice when people here… get together," Marcurio added. "The stone walls carry sounds too well."

"We've learned to keep quiet," Bird winked at me as his smile morphed into a devilish grin.

I couldn't help but laugh at the horrified and embarrassed look Marcurio shot him.

"Deborah says in her world such marriages between men or between women are rare, and group marriages are against the law," Bird told Marcurio.

"How very odd," Marcurio remarked. "Remind me never to visit your world."

I smiled and returned my gaze to my breakfast – porridge, fruit, a sticky sweet pastry, and small sausages. "Bird, who gives food to Winterhold?" The town was too wintery and empty to produce its own.

"Hmm? Oh, the Jarl of Eastmarch, Ulfric. He made some deal with Jarl Korir of Winterhold, I forget what about. I just know that when I bring the packages of food here, I leave with much smaller, heavier packages from the College to bring to Windhelm."

Our meal remained quiet for the rest of the morning, except for the occasional echoed kisses and giggles from Elodie and Osana.

* * *

 

After visiting with the tailor, I was told to find my primary instructor in a massive, round hall that was used for practicing magic. This hall was similar to the Arch-Mage's quarters. It had a vaulted ceiling with a hole in the center through which the blue magic fountain mist erupted.

"Where did you get those?" Faralda asked me, indicating the robes Stenvar had sent me.

"They were a gift."

"But you are not yet a  _laerling_."

"I only have this, my fur clothes, night clothes, and leather armor. The tailor is making college robes for me."

Faralda frowned, but backed off the subject of my attire. "Can you make fire?" she asked me.

"No, I can't make fire," I told Faralda.

"Most mages learn fire and ice spells first, since they're the easiest. Why did you skip them?"

"I didn't learn anything," I answered honestly.

"What do you mean you didn't  _learn_  anything? I thought you were the student of Wuunferth?"

"Well… assistant. I helped him with things. He helped me with the magic I already had, and some… incantations, enchanting…. And I learned how to find things or people with a spell. That is all."

"Wuunferth knows how to make fire, why did he not teach you?"

I shrugged. "I make lightning."

"Yes, I  _know_  you can make lightning. The whole town of Winterhold now knows you can make lightning. That is not my point." Faralda gave a light groan and then combed the fingers of both hands through her white-blonde hair, re-tucking the tresses behind her tall, pointed ears. "If you're going to learn Destruction magic, you need to be able to control at least the simplest fire and ice spells. Wuunferth should have told you this years ago."

"I was not  _here_  years ago," I retorted. Apparently Savos had not explained to his instructors my unique circumstances. I wondered if this was intentional. In order to avoid another "other world" conversation, I continued. "My lightning was dangerous. It had saved me before… but I could not control it well. I could not make my healing magic every time. Wuunferth helped me with this, and with enchanting. But I am still not very good. I tire easily. When I make lightning, after, I can't make healing magic. I need to learn how to… balance."

"Yes, yes," Faralda walked over to a small table to the side of the massive hall, "balance is  _always_  important to a mage." The elf woman reached down to open a drawer, and then placed a large candle on top of the table. She then pointed at the wick, and in an instant the candle was lit with a gentle flame. I hadn't even seen what exactly happened, but I assumed fire had emerged from her fingertip. Either that or she commanded the wick to ignite. Faralda then leaned forward and blew out the flame. As she turned to leave, she said, loud enough for others around us to hear, "Don't come to me until you can do what I did."

I watched in a confused horror as my primary instructor walked across the practice hall to another group of students, including Marcurio. I assumed they were all learning destruction magic. Behind them, dotting the wall between tall windows, were several short pillars with those same white-hot balls of light floating above them. The students were aiming their spells directly at the white orbs, which seemed to absorb the magic without being harmed. I wondered if a similar reaction happened with me and the invisible wards that surrounded the college, if I had acted like those balls of light. The wards were supposed to deter me, perhaps physically harm or block me, but I passed through unscathed. I would have to ask Savos.

I grabbed the candle from the table and left the practice hall – Hall of the  _Verinen_ , whatever that meant. I wasn't about to practice magic I had never used in front of a bunch of other mages. As I crossed the courtyard to the student's hall, the Hall of  _Rimd,_  I hugged my robed and hooded body to avoid letting the bitter cold contact my skin _._ In the center of the courtyard, behind the pool of magic water, was a tall statue of a mage. I skittered past the statue and quickly closed the hall door behind me. Warmth hit me and I pushed back my mage's hood. Generally I liked cold weather, but this was ridiculous.

Inside my room, I placed the candle with others on my desk and stared at them. I figured Faralda wanted me to somehow control the element of fire with magic, like I somehow controlled lightning, and not use any kind of telepathic power to ask or command the wick to light, but I truly had no idea how any of this magic stuff was happening. That was the main reason I went to the college – to find out how I was doing this, and how better to control it. I didn't want to learn how to make fire or ice.

If Savos was right, and I was something of a creation of the gods, an embodiment of magic, that would explain why suddenly I had magical powers in this world. It would explain how I created lightning and healing magic without knowing I could. What none of that explained, however, was  _how_  any of that happened. For all I knew, the gods were watching me at all times, and decided when and when not to grant me power.

I needed to find a book about fire magic.

There weren't many books in my room. Some were my own, some belonged to a previous occupant, and others were the same books everyone got – a blank journal meant to be occasionally checked by your primary instructor, and a rule book. I had only briefly read the rule book, but it echoed some of the advice Wuunferth had given me.

" _Don't, under any_ athstaethen _, let another mage practice on you. That is what the practice_ nuten _are for. And never read another student's incantation, only read what your instructors give you."_

The journal was meant to record our daily progress. I smiled at the thought of Faralda trying to read my awful Norren handwriting.

None of the books in my room were about fire magic, so I headed back across the courtyard and into the other building, then down to the library, the floor below the practice hall. The library was sealed from the stairwell by a heavy wooden door. The moment I opened the door I heard a man yelling at someone.

"Look at this! It's ruined!" the man exclaimed. "What is it, tea? I'm afraid to ask."

"It was like that when you gave it to me, I  _vaat_!" a younger man's voice replied.

As I rounded the corner into the library, I saw a large desk at the back of the circular room. Behind the desk stood an old, angry man, who looked like another dark-green-skinned elf. Unlike the other dark elves, though, he was burly, tall, and had white hair. The younger man stood in front of the desk. He was wearing mage's robes and bore a short, sheathed sword on his belt. He must have been the "other Nord" Mirabelle had mentioned.

Instead of approaching the angry old elf man mid-rant, I took a turn and walked around the outside bookshelves that surrounded a central, lowered platform where several tables and chairs awaited use. I gazed at the titles as I floated by. I didn't understand half of the words on the bindings, but I removed from the shelf a small, thin, dark brown book that had ornate embossing around the edges of the binding and covers. It had something about "black" in the title. I flipped it open and was immediately confused by its contents. I skimmed the lines until I recognized words.

There were a bunch of strange characters throughout the text that surrounded sentences, and I wondered if they were quotation marks. They weren't small lines, dots or even chevrons, but rather something similar to a tilde. This book contained a dialogue.

" _Mother says I'm good with spells. Someday I…"_

I couldn't understand the weird way of writing what looked like "I will be".

" _Someday I will be a mage. Maybe even Arch-Mage!"_

" _And what would your mother know of magic, boy?"_

I skimmed to the last few pages.

 _The_ baugen _of the soul trap spell spilled from his fingers and_ umgert _the boy. The young man's eyes went wide._

I skimmed again.

… _into the youth's rib case. His heart beat only once before it was pulled from his chest._

I immediately snapped the book shut.

" _What the hell are these people reading!?_ " I whispered to myself in English.

"Please don't handle the books so roughly," the old, angry man's voice boomed from just behind my shoulder.

I gasped and jumped as I turned around. What I saw standing in front of me was no elf, and certainly no man, but something else altogether. My eyes went wide at the sight of thick, short tusks protruding from the old mage's mouth. I knew I was staring. I couldn't stop.

"What in Oblivion is wrong with you?" the angry man asked me.

"I… I have… um…."  _What the hell is he?_  I asked myself.

"If you're not going to put that book back, may I?" He reached toward me and grasped the small book I was reading, and then carefully placed it back onto the shelf before turning back to me and merely staring at me for a moment. "You're new. I get it. Surprised to see a big old  _Orsimer_  in a mage's robe, handling these old books with care." The hulking green man took a step closer to me. "But don't get me wrong – you fuck with me or with my books, and I'll fuck with you." His pointer finger jabbed my collarbone as he uttered the final words of his warning. He then took a step back. "Now, is there anything I can help you find before you decide to rearrange my library?"

Green. Hulk. Hulk Man. Old Hulk Man with tusks. And pointed elvish ears. "Fire. I need to learn fire magic," I finally answered.

"Follow me," Old Hulk Man turned and walked toward the other side of the room. On the bottom of the top shelf was a small, ornate sign that read "FIRE". "Have a  _kagend_. Heh, get it?  _Kagend..._ ," Old Hulk Man had a great chuckle at the joke I didn't understand. When he finished laughing, he said, "My name's Urag gro-Shub, and this is my library. Leave all food and drink outside, put books back where you found them, and we should get along just fine. If there's ever anything you can't find, I may have it locked up in the back, so ask. And  _nothing_  leaves my library without my permission. Got it?"

I nodded.

"Good. Now stop staring at my  _stottenen_  and study." As Old Hulk Man walked away, he muttered something to himself about Nords.

On the shelf in front of me were dozens of brown books, all the same height and width. I pulled one from the shelf. It had inlaid ringlets of silver around the edges and a flaming hand design in the center. I recalled that the flaming hand was actually the symbol for destruction magic. Suddenly, my mind's eye flashed back to the day Thrynn and the outlaws killed those innocent farm folk. The Doctor Lady had shot bursts of fire from her hands. I ignored the screams in my memory and opened the book.

The title page of the book again showed the flaming hand and in big betters the word for destruction:  _altagon_. On the first page was a description.

 _Heat is most easily created. If fire is already lit, even easier. A fire mage can not only create but_ venn _fire._ Vennon _is of course quite simple. Merely call the flame upon your own hand_ ….

"Merely!?" I asked the book aloud, warranting a loud  _kffft_  from another student. Keeping the book open, I walked over to a free table and set out my college journal, inkwell and quill.

 _Mage College, Day One_ , I wrote on the first page of my college journal. Writing in Norren was still a slow and mentally taxing exercise for me, but I was determined to learn. I would reward my efforts later by writing in English in my personal journal.

 _Fire_ vennon. The title of my first entry. I skipped any personal comments and focused strictly on method.

 _Merely call the flame upon your own hand_ , I copied the text of the book I'd opened,  _taking care not to burn yourself, and hold the flame steady. Do not let it fade or absorb into your own magical_ askelen _, which is possible. Understanding the way fire magic works is the key to not getting burned. This is the same as creating the fire from one's own body. The mage_ talb  _the fire onto him. When the_ verin _obeys the mage, it will allow itself to be_ vennt _._

I sat back in my chair to take a rest from writing. The description I had copied was hardly useful, but I thought I understood what it meant. I had to "understand" the fire. Think like the fire.

Be the fire.

The text also said to make the fire obey me. I wondered if this process would be similar to enchanting weapons, but I didn't want to test the process in a library, where there were no open flames, only those same white-hot orbs floating around the room.

I turned the page of the text and saw what looked like incantations. Rather than reciting them in the library, I wrote them down for later. Further on in the book was another description preceding more incantations. I copied it down.

 _Once the mage can_ venn _fire that already exists, the mage can attempt to create the_ verin _with his own body. This process is of course easier for those with a natural_ geth _for magic. Nords may have a rather difficult time_ vennig _this_ verin _._

" _Good thing I'm not a Nord_ ," I whispered to myself in English. I silently wondered if being blessed by Akatosh or Magnus or whichever gods would mean I wouldn't have such a hard time learning new spells.

 _Feel the flame within your very soul,_ the text continued.  _Feel it under your skin and in your breath. If you're in pain, you're doing it wrong. When called, the flame will emerge from your fingertips or palm, whichever is desired. In some cases, fire mages can_ brenn _a candle or other object without first holding the flame by merely commanding the object to catch fire._

I sighed. This sounded like what Faralda did to the candle. I didn't see any fire until the candle was lit.

I copied down the following incantations, which were the last entries in the book.

That's when it hit me.

" _Orc!"_  I said aloud in English.

" _Kffft!_ " I turned to see who I had upset. It was the same young man with the sword who angered Old Hulk Man.

Old Orc Man. Urag go-Something was an orc. An  _orc_. I couldn't believe it. _Mages, elves, orcs…_ , I thought to myself, _what next, hobbits?_  I began to seriously consider, more than before, that I was in some sort of coma in my old world – not dead – and this was my coma dream. A Tolkien freak-show, and I was stuck in Middle Earth.  _If I see any rings emblazoned with a foreign script,_ I thought,  _I'll freak the fuck out._

Though troubled with a renewed sense of doubt, life as I knew it went on. Satisfied with my research for the day, I packed up my belongings, returned the book to where I'd found it, and went back to my bedroom.

For at least an hour, I did nothing but stare at the candles in front of me, broken only by the periodic attempt to use incantations for creating fire. When those failed, I admitted defeat and switched to the incantations for using already-made fire. Not having any lit candles was a problem, however. I even tried to create my own incantations in English – also a failure.

My stomach told me that it might have been about lunch time, so I grabbed a candle, stuffed it into my mage's robe pocket and headed, yet again, across the courtyard and upstairs to the big meal hall.

* * *

 

"Hmm, yes," Marcurio thought a moment. His thumb stroked his tiny blip of a beard, otherwise known as a soul patch. "Faralda makes every new Destruction student perform that and other tests before teaching them better spells."

"But I can't make fire," I explained.

"Ah, well, that… could be a problem, yes." Marcurio bit the small piece of meat pie from his fork.

"I found a book to help. It has incantations," I said while moving around the vegetables on my plate. "But I can't make fire. I need to see if I can… handle already-made fire. Do you think I can light a candle here and take it my room to practice?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. I'll come with you after lunch and light one for you, even show you a few things." Marcurio spoke with a straight face, as if none of this was against the rules. Maybe it wasn't.

"Faralda did not show me how to do anything – she lit a candle and left. Not a big help. Are you sure getting help from another student is not against the rules?"

Marcurio smiled and set down his eating utensils. "Deborah,  _el'a_ , everyone gets help from other students. In the end,  _you_  pass your own tests, but how you learn the magic…. Well, everyone has their strengths and weaknesses. For instance, Tolfdir over there," he pointed to a very old, short man across the room from us, "is very good with fire magic, even though he is not a fire mage, or even a student of Destruction magic."

"And what about you?" I asked Marcurio.

"Like you, I focus on lightning magic. I can also heal."

"And he can make himself  _rock hard_ ," Bird added with a silent chuckle and a wide grin. He immediately returned to eating his lunch as if he hadn't said a word.

Marcurio gave his husband "the look", shook his head, and exhaled through his nose. "I know a spell called Stoneflesh. It makes my body – everything, including my clothes – as hard as stone. A sort of armor. A weightless armor. But its effects are temporary, and as any spell, can be broken through. I also use wards which act like shields. Unlike Stoneflesh, wards can block magic. I prefer wards unless my magic  _askel_  is so  _utarma_  I can only manage to use Stoneflesh, which takes but an instant to cast."

" _Hmph_ …. I need a little stone in my flesh." It was true. Stenvar pointed out that I was soft and squishy, like a rotten berry. Having rock-hard flesh would make learning to be some sort of warrior-mage-killer-of-undead-champion-of-Meridia-person a lot easier. But that's not how my comment was received, I realized.

As soon as I finished the remark, part of Bird's half-chewed bite of sandwich ended up on my robe before the man erupted in laughter. Marcurio looked horrified, both at me and at his husband.

"What? What did I say?" I asked, honestly confused.

Marcurio groaned a sigh. "Pay no attention to this one. He thinks everything is a dirty  _yirv_."

"I do not," Bird protested.

"A dirty what?" I asked.

" _Yirv_ ," Marcurio repeated.

I shook my head. "I don't know that word."

"You best learn it then," Marcurio warned before taking a sip of his wine. "Spend enough time with Bird, you'll hear them all, whether you want to or not."

"Don't you dare pretend that you don't enjoy a good dirty  _yirv_ ," Bird said in a playful lilt while inching his fingers up the fabric of his husband's robe sleeve.

"Yes, Orri, but," Marcurio spoke so softly I almost couldn't hear him, but I knew he used Bird's proper name. He leaned to his side and whispered, "Maybe not in public as much, hmm?"

I thought I saw a twinkle in the young mage's eye before he kissed his husband.

* * *

 

After lunch, Marcurio did as he promised and lit a candle for me so that I might attempt to manipulate the existing flame.

It didn't work.

Just as when I had first started to try to use what I called the Pathfinder spell – I still didn't understand what Wuunferth called it – I spent hours upon hours attempting incantations, and variations of the incantations.

At dinner, I asked Marcurio if he thought that since I was so proficient in lightning magic that I may not be able to work with fire, but he doubted that was the case. He mentioned that Mirabelle was what he called a  _verinra_  mage – someone that could make magic using fire, ice, lightning, and earth. Earth magic related to healing. I decided that  _verin_  meant something like "element" – fire, water, earth, and whatever lightning associated with, maybe air. He explained that Mirabelle was quite powerful, so being proficient in one of the four elements was no excuse to be limited in the others.

After dinner, I was too exhausted to try the incantations more. I locked myself in my room and wrote in both of my journals – the college one and my personal one. In the college journal, I summarized what I did that day and the fact that I failed to accomplish anything. In my personal journal, writing in English, I bitched about how Faralda should have instructed me further, or Savos should have allowed me to focus only on lightning and healing, and how I was so immensely horny and lonely for physical companionship that I was going a bit nuts when not distracted by something else. I needed chocolate or sex immediately, and neither was going to happen anytime soon. And, unless I somehow concocted some sort of magical fake chocolate, I doubted I would ever eat the heavenly food again.

 _That_  realization was utterly depressing.

Lying in bed in my nightclothes, staring at the candle-lit stone ceiling, all I could think about was Stenvar. And Elodie and Osana lip-locked during breakfast, and likely having sex in the shower the night before. And Bird and Marcurio having quiet sex two doors down, perhaps even at that very moment.

I reached to my night table and grabbed the bottle of wine I had purchased at dinner. Food, milk and water were free – alcohol was not. Thankfully my foresight for the potential need of wine in my life was working as well as my magically-healed vision. I took a swig of the smooth red stuff and recorked the bottle. I didn't have a terribly large amount of coin to my name, and I was determined to make that wine last. Or, at the very least, save it for when things  _really_  got bad.

I knew what had to be done for me to be able to fall asleep. Since Stenvar had taught me the "warm tingly hand" trick, I hadn't used it on myself for the purpose of self-pleasure. I hoped I could still create the same sensation I did while with him in that tent.

I raised my right hand in front of my face and watched as it began to both sparkle and glow with lightning and healing magic at the same time. It didn't hurt my hand at all, likely due to the healing magic. Stenvar thought at such a low intensity like this, the magic could be used for hours, but I wasn't so sure. Not wasting any time, I slid my hand under my linen ladybriefs and pressed my hand to my mound.

Even through my own skin and a healthy layer of pubic hair, I felt the warm tingling of my magic. As I had found out through Stenvar's instruction, this action was enough to get the both of us fully aroused in seconds. When the hand touched directly on our most sensitive areas, orgasm could be reached in minutes, and without even the slightest movement.

" _But that's no fun_ ," Stenvar had said.

I moved my right hand to my right breast and discovered that the same warm tingling there was just as effective in rousing my desire. With my left hand, I began to pleasure myself in the traditional way while letting the magic work at my sensitive nipples. Thoughts of my time in the tent with Stenvar flooded my sensory memory. The way he kissed, the way he used his teeth, his tongue, his explorative fingers….

It was then that I knew a mere orgasm wouldn't completely satisfy me. I needed to be filled, and desperately. I literally ached for a man's girth, and I needed the weight of a man on top of me. I needed  _any_ weight on top of me. I settled momentarily for a pillow.

It didn't work.

Even more frustrated, I tossed the pillow aside and turned to my left where I had six candles, three of which were new and previously unlit. Two of them were about as wide as my hand and short. One was long and thin, barely wider than my big toe.

And then I wondered.

I grabbed the long, thin candle and stared at it. " _So it's come to this_ ," I muttered in English.


	33. In the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on a relatively short hiatus again. The semester is starting on Monday and I've got a class to teach. And a dissertation to work on. But NEVER FEAR, I will never, ever abandon this story. Nor will I abandon Fire on the Mountain, though I admit to neglecting it (mostly because I don't want to break my own heart with what will happen soon). It's just difficult when you have so much real life stuff to do.
> 
> I have future chapters sketched out and half-written, so really I just need to find the time to flesh out everything and proof-read. Please bear with me!
> 
> Also, sorry/not sorry for the cliffhanger….

"What…  _is_  this?" I asked Bird after reading a letter the in-house courier handed to me at dinner. She was an olive-skinned elf woman with shimmering white hair and was hunched over from old age. She lived at the college and delivered all personal mail to the college residents.

When I first arrived in Winterhold, Bird showed me on my small map of Skyrim the paths the couriers took. I was reminded of where Dawnstar was in relation to Winterhold, Windhelm, and the rest of the land. Bird explained that either he or Efi, the courier who traveled between Winterhold and Dawnstar, would be the ones to bring mail or packages to Winterhold, and Ilmeni, the old dark-elf, would deliver that mail to the students and instructors.

"What does it say?" Marcurio asked.

I turned the piece of paper around and slid it across the table to my dining companions, which lately included Brelyna Maryon, a young and incredibly nice dark-elf. She was best friends with Marcurio, and by relation, Bird.

The letter was more of a note, and certainly not a note worth sending via courier.

 _Zeik nis sofnar._  I can't sleep.

"It has no name," I said. "Who sent it, Bird?"

My courier friend had only arrived a few days ago after being away for a bit over two weeks. When he shook his head, his long, white-blond, angelic silk-for-hair flowed like he was in a shampoo commercial. He reminded me of Orlando Bloom's Legolas. "I can't tell you that," was his answer. "I can't even confirm or deny I brought it here. But I can tell you, if the sender leaves no name and requests no mark be left  _bendig_   _uprun_ , they do so on purpose. Even if I had handed it to you myself, you couldn't assume it was from Windhelm directly, since all of the mail from the east comes through Windhelm. We're just not permitted to say anything. If couriers started  _svekjar_  people's trust, no one would use our services, particularly if they send  _femunren_. We take  _eithren_  from the head courier of the  _Herath_  we work in. If we break any  _eithren_ , we're  _sekrat_ , or even arrested if we steal money."

"Alright, alright, I understand. But, Bird… this is so… strange. Who pays to send this?" I grabbed the note and held it up. "Three gold?"

"That depends on where it came from," Bird answered.

"It came from Windhelm?" I heard the whine in my plead. "Please…."

"I can't answer that, Deb. I'm sorry."

Marcurio said nothing, but hidden behind the chewing of his dinner I could tell he wanted to speak his mind. He knew it would fall on deaf ears, however, and therefore kept his mouth shut. Brelyna, on the other hand, was frowning deeply. She looked like she was going to be ill.

I sat back in a huff and stared at the letter, ignoring my dinner. I wondered if I should even bother to match the handwriting to Stenvar's two letters that I kept. One was written messily and the other carefully, but this was such a short note, I wasn't sure a match could be made. Still, I hadn't the faintest idea who else would bother sending such a dinky note to me if it  _wasn't_  Stenvar. But then I wondered.

"It could have come from here?" I asked Bird.

"Within the College? Yes. If it had, the person would not have had to pay anything. Just slip it into Ilmeni's bag…." A frown crossed Bird's face. "I'm truly sorry, Deb. I know, it's strange. But, listen, if you receive anything… worrisome, do let me know. We must remain silent on  _vanefna_ senders, but not if someone is being  _rolveka_."

"If someone is what?"

"If the letters scare you or if you receive anything dangerous, or… disgusting. The original courier would know who is sending things repeatedly to the same place, and can stop delivering them."

"Oh, alright…."

"This…," Bird indicated the note, "it's nothing to worry about, I don't think. Maybe someone just thinks you can help them sleep, or not sleeping has made them a bit crazy." He recommenced eating his meal, then after swallowing, added, "Do you have any guesses as to who it could be from?"

If looks could kill, mine would have shot a fork into Bird's eye. I resisted the urge to do it myself. "Maybe," I answered before alleviating my moderate rage by finishing my food.

After dinner, I returned to my bedroom to compare the short note to Stenvar's letters. As I expected, the results were inconclusive. I wondered why Stenvar would bother to send such a note, rather than just ride his horse up to Winterhold. Then I remembered it was winter currently, and thought perhaps he avoided traveling so far north during the cold.

For about an hour after staring at Stenvar's letters, I once again stared futily at unlit candles. I still couldn't create fire. However, a week ago, I had successfully accomplished the transfer of already-burning fire from one candle to another. I did it absent-mindedly now when I needed more reading light in my bedroom, no longer even needing to think about the process.

The tomes I'd read about fire magic were vaguely helpful.  _Be the fire_. All mages were different, apparently, with how they learned new spells or what magic they could perform naturally. In my case, it wasn't seeing the candle lit with my mind's eye, or imagining a small flame climbing onto my fingertip or palm, it was the mere desire to have more light. It was as if the flame understood my need and responded to it with a mind of its own.

It began out of frustration and quite possibly the onset of insanity. I began speaking to the disobedient candles out loud in English – in the privacy of my bedroom, of course.

" _Well hello, candles. How are you today?_ "

_Candle._

" _Well that's wonderful. I had porridge again for breakfast, what about you?"_

_Candle._

" _You know, in the dining hall, there's two huge fires that surround us and keep us nice and warm. Jealous?"_

 _Candle_.

I almost didn't notice when it finally happened. I was reading my notes one day when one of my two lit candles melted itself to exhaustion. Not moving my eyes from my journal, I reached for the remaining lit candle to bring it closer. After I gripped the lit candle, in an instant my entire bedroom was illuminated. Over the days I had collected fourteen candles, including two three-pronged candelabras, and every single candle aside from the melted one had ignited itself. I stared at my glowing companions in disbelief until the one I held dripped hot wax onto my fingers.

I jumped out of bed, set the candle I held back onto my night table, and retrieved a candelabra from the top of my tall bookshelf. I set the candelabra down onto my desk, sat in my chair, and stared at the tiny flames.

"How!?" I asked the candles in Norren.

_Candle._

I decided to experiment. I blew out two of the three candles in the candelabra and attempted a manual transmission. I held my left hand near the remaining flame and asked for it to allow me to transfer it. It didn't work. I held my hand closer to the flame, feeling its heat. It didn't work. Then, realizing that I could likely just heal any minor burns I acquired, I lowered my hand even closer to the flame, letting it kiss my palm.

 _If you're in pain, you're doing it wrong_.

Thankfully, I was able to summon my healing magic.

The tiny flame was mocking me. I grabbed it with my right hand and slid it out of the candelabra holder. With whitening knuckles I gripped the shaft in frustration and anger and silently cursed the object for its insolence.

"I need to read!" I screamed way too loudly for the time of night.

As if in response, its two set candelabra companions ignited. I blinked in confusion, until I thought I understood. I thought perhaps the candles, or the fire itself, was responding to my need, my desperation, or at least finally gave into my pitiful attempts.

Just like the soul gems.

I replaced the candle I held, then blew them all out. "I need light," I said to them.

_Candle._

Biting my lip to refrain from cursing aloud, I reached for a single lit candle and held it in my left hand. "I need light," I repeated.

 _Candle_.

I held the candle in my right hand. "I need light," I said a third time.

The three candles lit simultaneously.

Right hand, projecting. Left hand, shielding and reception.  _Wuunferth's lessons to the rescue_ , I thought.

For some reason, holding a lit candle in my right hand acted as a magic wand of sorts. It projected its flame toward other candles and ignited them in my time of need. It was only then that I realized that this was mostly useless and nothing more than a lazy trick. Faralda wanted me to create fire, or ignite a candle out of the blue. Creating fire would not be a lazy trick.

That night I had finally realized that in this frozen world, creating fire could save my life, and convinced myself that this was the reason most mages in Skyrim learned fire magic first, not because it was "easy" as Faralda had put it.

I looked once more at the short note I had just received and thought about cold nights in the wilderness with Stenvar, cuddling up after spending the day adventuring. Surely, fire magic would come in handy then, even with Stenvar's fire-starting rocks. I also imagined setting barbarians and trolls on fire.

Reminding myself that I was indeed capable of at least transferring fire, I walked around my room and blew out every flame, attempting to repeat what I had done so many times in the past week, but without holding a lit candle.

I had actually expected something to change.

I fell asleep feeling perfectly useless.

The smell of a wood fire roused me. I felt its warmth on my skin, and felt soft animal fur envelop me.

And then I immediately sat up, eyes wide with bewilderment, because I wasn't supposed to be in a room with a crackling fire, nor did I own an animal fur blanket.

I looked around me and realized I was no longer in my bedroom in the student's hall, nor was I even lying on a mattress. I was instead entangled in a bed of what appeared to be dozens of sewn-together fox furs, and was lying on a wooden floor, stark naked. The crackling fire came from behind me, where orange-brown slabs of shiny stone lined a fireplace. Set across from the fireplace was a large wooden, cushioned couch made in the Roman style. I lay between the couch and the fire. Surrounding the small space were the walls of a log cabin and as far as I could see, no door or windows.

" _It's such a temperamental element, isn't it?_ " I heard a woman's voice say in English.

I looked up and around me, but saw nothing. "Meridia?" I called out. The voice sounded familiar.

" _So quick to rise, so easily snuffed out. Much like heroes, sometimes_ …," the voice continued, not acknowledging me.

" _Why am I naked?_ " I asked.

" _So vulnerable to the other elements. Water, earth… even wind when strong enough… they can all overpower it_."

" _Am I in your realm again? Oblivion? Where are you?_ "

" _But spirit…_ spirit _only_ enhances _the flame, if you have it._ "

" _Am I dead?_ "

" _No_ ," the voice answered. Out of the shadows, the same lithe woman I saw in my first dream of Meridia stepped forward, only this time her body was engulfed by strategically placed, swirling flames that reminded me of the surface of Earth's sun. The fire-dress made her tawny skin look even darker. Instead of sapphire eyes sparkling back at me, I stared into two glistening irises made of orange topaz.

" _Welcome to Orange_ ," Meridia said in a tone that would best be described as a seductive verbal kiss. She made her way to the large reclined couch and lay facing me, propping herself up with an elbow, gazing upon my barely covered flesh.

I squirmed in my fox furs. " _Why… am I naked?_ "

Meridia's teeth glowed white as her lips parted in a grin. " _This is partly a creation of your own subconscious. Remember, only your mind is here with me in my realm_." She had me there, I supposed. " _When I called your mind to me last time, you were dreaming of a meadow with blue flowers. You were digging for something_ …."

" _The meadow_ …," I thought for a moment. " _The meadow outside the cave in Norway. It had these little blue flowers…. You saw that? In my memory?_ "

" _Dream, memory, subconscious, yes_ …." She waved off the subject. "You _have been playing with_ fire," she grinned, possibly because she knew she made a bit of a pun. " _And you're correct. You will need to learn to create fire from nothing if you're to survive in Skyrim…._ "

" _Wonderful_."

" _Oh, don't be so glum. Remember what I said just now about spirit? Were you listening, or were you too distracted by your own nudity?_ " Meridia then snapped her fingers and I was immediately clothed in the very furs I was previously holding to my body. The tight fur top and bottom were still a tad too revealing for my taste, but at least I finally had my hands free. I then wondered just how much of this situation was indeed the making of my own mind.

" _What about spirit?_ " I asked from my seat on the wooden floor.

" _You must_ have _it in order to control fire_ ," the Daedra's topaz eyes lit with a fire of their own.

" _I have spirit_ ," I argued.

Meridia sat up on her couch and raised her voice to a near-shout. Her fire-dress shot off sparks. " _You're angry, frightened, and unwilling to accept who you are_."

" _I know who I am_..."

" _You know who you were, Deborah. You are no longer that person, but rather an enhanced… copy_." Meridia calmed, and so did her dress. " _That mage is right you know. Savos Aren. You are, technically speaking, the child of Akatosh. The creation of myself and other gods yes, but it was Akatosh, through Magnus, my father, who gave you life. A child of the son of the sun_ ," Meridia gave a little laugh. " _That almost makes us sisters_."

" _I'm still human_ ," I said, ever-defiant.

" _Of course you're human. You bleed and can be killed as any other mortal. That is not my point. You need to embrace who you are in order to succeed in being my Champion_."

" _Why didn't you tell all of this sooner!? About… Akatosh… everything!_ " I screamed. Screamed at a goddess.

" _Would you have believed me?_ " Meridia replied. " _Believed your own mind? You hold so much doubt within you. About everything. You are dead in your world, Deborah. This, all of this, even this very conversation is happening just as you see it. In order to move forward you must accept this. Yes, none of this was intended… but we need you, Deborah. We need you to open your eyes_."

" _If I'm not having a coma dream, why am I seeing things invented by an author in my world!?_ "

Meridia folded her hands in her lap of fire. " _You already answered that yourself_."

I stared into her topaz eyes for a moment. " _What, the portals? That was just a guess_."

" _Good guess_ ," the Daedra smiled.  _"I remember John Ronald fondly_ …."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. " _Tolkien?_ "

My only answer was a Mona Lisa smile. Instead of elaborating or allowing me to ask more questions about the confirmation of one of my wacky hypotheses about this world and mine, Meridia stood from her couch, walked around me, and touched her hands to the fire in the fireplace. When she withdrew her hands, her palms cupped flames the size of apples.

" _Stand up_ ," she ordered. I did as she said. " _Hold out your hands, palms up_." I did. " _Deborah, you are, quite literally, the result of magic. Your mind, your essence, is of your own, but your body and what gave you life comes directly from the 'gods'. And, as you have learned, magic comes from us, particularly from Magnus. You have within you the power to control and create all kinds of magic, because you_ are _magic. But make no mistake, you are not a god._ " With her last comment, the flames she held in her palms flared, and then retreated until they were gone. " _You have limited power_ ," Meridia continued, " _but you need to accept the power you_ do _have_." Flames re-emerged in her palms, shot up, and vanished. " _Now_ ," Meridia backed away from me, " _create fire_."

Palms outstretched, I waited for flames to emerge from my hands, but they didn't. " _But I don't know how to 'be the fire'_ ," I repeated the instructions I had read.

" _You are not fire, Deborah, you are magic. As such, you can control the elements with your own embodied magic – spirit. I know you know full well that spirit connects all elements_ …."

" _How did you…?_ " I assumed she had been reading my mind just then, learning that I had dabbled in the Wiccan arts a decade ago before admitting to myself that magic and deities were a fabrication of mankind.

Meridia only held up her palm to silence me and my thoughts. " _Fire, now_."

" _Isn't this cheating?_ "

The Daedra cackled. " _Yes, probably. Now!_ "

I frowned, and stared down at my empty palms.  _Be the magic. I am the magic. This is not a coma dream._ Thoughts raced through my mind.  _Lightning is just another element. I can control the elements. Fire responds to my need. Soul gems respond to my need. Healing and lightning magic respond to my need... sometimes. I need fire to survive in Skyrim. I need fire._

A warmth much like that of my healing magic began to spread across my palms. I didn't see anything, though. It was as if something was causing friction – generating heat – on my skin. I thought perhaps that's all magic was, manipulating the elements. Fire was localized heat. Friction causes heat and, in some cases, fire. Fire magic was the mind rubbing two sticks together.

As I stared at my heating palms, the room went dark. The fire in the fireplace had been extinguished; I could smell the thick smoke. The black room became cold, deathly cold, and the air nearly too thick to breathe.

I began to hear whispers in my ears, both of them, and felt what must have been a dozen cold, oily snakes slither over my body. "Meridia!?" I cried out. The whispers grew louder.

" _Deborah, wake up!_ " Meridia shouted.

" _What!?_ " I could barely hear her over the voice that sounded from just beside my ears, as if I was wearing headphones. It spoke in a language I did not know.

" _Wake up, Champion!_ " Meridia screamed.

The snakes tightened over my body. My limbs began to tingle with the loss of circulation.  _Wake up,_ I ordered myself. The strange voice speaking in a guttural, unknown language intensified to a shout. _Wake up. You're in the college safe in a bed in a locked room. Wake up._ I felt faint.

" _You cannot have her!_ " I heard Meridia shout before the room exploded into whiteness.

* * *

 

" _Deborah? Deborah! Ers da rona!?"_

"Meridia!?"

" _Deborah! Hniga! Eg zeik, Marcurio!"_

"What!?"

" _Vente, unne zeik freistar…."_

"I can't… breathe…."

" _Ach, Regen! Hvas er sa!? Hvas'r tithig!?"_

" _Reh ki ondig!"_

" _Su leite Faralda! Ath Colette!"_

" _Ha augen…."_

" _Er reh… feiga?"_

" _Nei, nei, rehr ondig, nuk…. Deborah? Deb, megas hylether zeik?"_

"Black."

" _Hvas? Hvas reh telt?"_

" _Zeik ki vit."_

"Meridia…. Fire…."

" _Deb?"_

"The snakes. All. They want all."

" _Unne zeik lithar!"_

" _Hvas er, Faralda?"_

" _Er reik feld. Veyn reh fregt sas?"_

" _Zeik ki vit."_

" _Deborah, hylethe zeik. Da skuule letter sas reik feld. Ver ki hjalpen ef da ers laspanur."_

"Must… light…."

" _Aiii, unne zeik…."_

Light. Bright light surrounded me, blinded me. White turned yellow, and yellow turned gold. When my eyes could focus I saw Colette Marence, the healing magic instructor, looming over me with swirls of gold encircling her body. The swirls faded and, slowly, I became aware of my surroundings.

I was huddled in the corner of my bedroom in the student's hall. The small table that once stood there had been knocked over, and the jug of water it once supported lay in pieces on the floor in a pool. The room was illuminated by every candle I had. I smelled urine, and felt wetness between my legs.

I looked up again and found Marcurio in the crowd of students that had formed behind Colette and Faralda just inside my bedroom door. "What happened?" I cried to him.


	34. Help

The shower at the college was something of a miracle, or at least that's how people from my world might have seen it. The contraption worked with gravity, allowing droplets of water to fall over a wide circular area in the center of the shower room. The force behind the water was added, as I understood it, by some sort of pump. The water used by the college was occasionally taken in from the sea as well as the constant snowfall. There was apparently a massive store of water beneath the college that was cleansed continually by the same glowing, blue water that stood in pools throughout the college grounds. The blue glowing water was, literally, magic water, and it was regularly "recharged" by the Arch-Mage.

The glowing blue water comprised all forms of magic. First, healing magic separated any impurities from the water molecules, just like when healing an infected wound. Destruction magic removed the impurities altogether, leaving nothing but pure water. The type of magic that made things appear different from what they really were, what I took to mean illusion magic, gave the water a blue glow. Magic that made things appear out of nowhere, what I understood as conjuration, bound the healing, destruction, and illusion magic together with water to form, as best I could understand it, a sort of enchanted water molecule. Finally, magic that changed the state of something, alteration magic, allowed the magical molecule to attach itself to contaminated or used water and instantly purify it, kind of like a benevolent virus. The blue, glowing water was what the magical water molecules looked like before being used to purify other water. This enchanted water responded to magic, which is why, apparently, it erupted into a mist when I first passed by it on my way into the college.

I  _was_  magic.

By the time the stored, purified water reached the bathtubs, shower, or various faucets where buckets and jugs were filled, the water was nothing short of immaculate, but looked like ordinary water. Because the water did not taste salty, I wondered if the process removed any necessary dietary minerals, but I had no idea how to ask about that.

Amazingly, the shower and baths could be used continuously without depleting the fresh water store, as the enchanted water somehow replicated itself for a certain amount of time. Again, like a virus.

I had been right in assuming that this same enchanted water was used to enchant mage's robes. The clothes were left to soak in the water for a period of time. If no specific enchantment was desired for the robe, no further action was required. If the robe was meant to be imbued with the power of healing or destruction or any of the other magics, the water in the "enchanting pool" was charged with an extra amount of the desired magic. Once finished, the enchantment would last forever, and no soul gems were required for this particular process. To signify if a robe was enhanced with a specific type of magic, the symbol of that magic was embroidered on the collar.

Robes made for specific levels of training were made in different styles. The robes of a novice mage were simple and were either black or blue. The trimming had no embroidery or any decoration. This was the robe I had acquired after Helgen, a blue one. The robe Stenvar had sent me, the robe of a  _laerling_ , which I still couldn't figure out the meaning of, was much like the novice's blue robe but had a leather belt and strap that crossed over the chest. These robes also had a leather mantle and collar. The robes of the third-highest level mage looked exactly like those of a  _laerling_  but were brown and had a swirling design on the leather mantle. The next level of mage training, which I understood to mean expert, was not a true robe, the same as that of the highest level, master. These two designs differed for men and women, though many women opted for the "men's" outfit. The women's expert and master robes were the same sort of dress, but the master level one had swirled designs over the front. The men's expert and master robes were essentially tunics with a long jacket attacked as an outer layer. The master version of this had the same swirling designs on the front of the tunic, but also boasted embroidered designs on the trim of the jacket.

Any sort of clothing could be worn underneath the robes, as I knew, and generally people opted to wear thin linen underclothes, as the robes themselves were quite insulating. Still, a fur cloak was a must in the northern parts of this land when wearing a mage's robe. I had asked Marcurio and Brelyna what people did when the weather warmed, if the robes ever became too heavy during the summer, and they responded by showing me their spare robes, the ones they'd bought in the south of Skyrim. They were imported from countries to the south and west, warmer countries, and were rare in Skyrim and therefore very expensive, so not many mages owned them. Brelyna's was extraordinarily skimpy, and consisted of a sort of twisted, breast-cupping cloth tank-top and soft hide mini-skirt. Marcurio's was similar, minus the breast cupping, and had short, loose leggings instead of a skirt.

The official robes issued by the college, which I had received several days after being accepted, looked exactly like the expert level robes but held no enchantment. We weren't allowed to wear any other robes or enchanted clothing or jewelry during our lessons or exams.

I was given the women's dress type, which I was fine with. I couldn't complain that the way the dress fit me accentuated my curves in a very flattering manner, a fact Marcurio had jokingly pointed out one day in front of Bird and Brelyna, going as far as running his hands over my hips and whistling. Neither Bird or Brey – what Marcurio and Bird called Brelyna – made any comment, but I thought I saw blushing cheeks on the both of them.

Marcurio had relaxed in front of me by that point, I realized, and had become quite the eccentric fellow. A very, very flamboyantly gay and eccentric fellow. Soon enough, even without Bird around, Marcurio and I became great friends, and I began to see him as a sort of "gay boyfriend", though explaining what that was to him resulted in just confusing the man, and I dropped the subject.

After regaining consciousness after my second Meridia dream, confused and soaked by my own urine, it was Marcurio and Brelyna who helped me down to the shower room. I didn't need help walking, but they supported me from either side nonetheless. Marcurio said that Bird wanted to help too, but since he had to wake up before sunrise the next morning to leave for Windhelm, Marcurio sent him back to bed.

On the way down to the bathing hall, I listened to Marcurio and Brelyna wonder aloud about how the other students would act around me now. Apparently, the others hadn't much cared for me. I doubted anything would be different now that it was quite obvious something was different about me. I was simultaneously blessed by the gods – fashioned by them, even – and haunted by some kind of evil.  _Who would want to get involved with that?_ I wondered.

As my friends helped me disrobe, the details of the "dream" began to creep into my memory. Brelyna left to take my soiled nightclothes to be washed and to retrieve something clean. Marcurio turned on the shower for me, averting his eyes as best he could, making no comment about my body, tattoos, nothing.

I settled on the floor, sitting with my knees tucked up to my chin. The shower floor was made out of some sort of dense stone and had a metal drain in the center. The water fell on me like a gentle waterfall. Just like the baths, this water was heated somehow before it was released. I hadn't known until then that water temperature for all bathtubs and the shower could be adjusted to your preference. Marcurio was kind enough to make the shower warmer for me by shooting small flames at some sort of sensor. I felt cold, so very cold, and I made him adjust the temperature of the water to near-scalding. When it became too hot, he hit the sensor with a burst of ice magic.

Even as the comforting water fell on me, I couldn't shake the feeling of large, slimy snakes violating my body. They wrapped around me, tugged at my limbs, slid over my neck, and nearly crushed my insides. I had to concentrate on breathing.  _There are no snakes_ , I said to myself while inhaling and exhaling deeply, slowly.  _Breathe. There are no snakes_. That I was suddenly fearful of the animal that I had always adored was ironic. Given my snake tattoos, I wondered if there was some sort of connection between me, or how the gods and Daedra saw me, and the invader. I would have to ask someone if there was a snake god, or snake demon.

Upon arriving back at my bedroom, I was met by both Mirabelle and Savos. Mirabelle looked as annoyed as ever, but Savos looked something of a mix of worried and excited. Mirabelle shooed Marcurio and Brelyna away, ushered me and Savos into my bedroom, and shut the door behind her. The room was still illuminated by a dozen lit candles. They had lit during my dream.

I sat on my bed, perfectly warm in my fur clothes, yet feeling overexposed to the chilly ambiance that suddenly invaded my room. I felt like a naughty child, sitting face to face with my teacher and the school principal. I knew I had done nothing wrong, but that knowledge mattered not. I was being suffocated by my own anxiety.

I stared at the fur slippers that covered my feet.

"Deborah!" Mirabelle shouted, finally getting my attention after what must have been several attempts.

"Hmm? Yes. Sorry…." I was in no shape to hold a conversation, and yet I knew I had no choice.

"Faralda tells me you cast a lightning cloak on yourself. Is this something Wuunferth taught you?"

"Lightning cloak?" I stared at the small woman, confused.

"She also said your eyes were glowing white while you were cloaked. I've never heard of such a thing. Have you, Savos?" Mirabelle turned to the Arch-Mage.

"No, I have not," he answered, infinitely more calm than Mirabelle. "Not connected with a lightning cloak spell, anyway."

"But you have heard of it?" she asked.

"Well, yes, but…," the old dark-elf gingerly twirled a finger at the end of his long black beard, "I'm more interested in hearing what Deborah experienced. Once we learn this, we may make more sense of what the students saw."

I stared into the old mage's blood-red eyes, and he stared right back. "My eyes glowed?" I asked.

"So we are told," Savos confirmed.

My fingers clenched the edge of my mattress as I braced myself to tell Mirabelle and Savos what had happened in my "dream". I began by telling them my troubles with creating fire magic, and how I thought Meridia took it upon herself to try and teach me, or perhaps even gift me with the ability through my subconscious. I realized too late that this was the first Mirabelle was hearing of my experience with Meridia, but Savos didn't let her interrupt me with her inevitable questions.

I continued, narrating the short experience, explaining how I could feel the heat of fire magic in my palms just before the dream room went black and I was attacked by a dozen snakes, and Meridia shouted for whatever it was to leave me alone. And then it was over. I woke up, soaked in my own urine, terrified, surrounded by lit candles and people who had come to watch the spectacle.

Mirabelle spoke first. "Are you saying you're… blessed by Meridia? The Daedric  _Hofthin?"_

I nodded. "And…," I had to think of the name, "Arkay. And Akatosh."

"She's a Child of Akatosh, Mirabelle," Savos explained.

The woman stared at Savos. "Since when do Aedra work  _with_  the  _Hofthinen?_ " she asked.

"Since this one," Savos indicated me, "fell into our world, it would seem." Mirabelle looked as if she had dozens of questions. Surely she did, since this was the first she'd heard of my origin, but Savos interrupted her oncoming outburst. "You said you felt snakes?" he asked me.

"Yes. It was dark. I saw nothing. But there were many snakes, cold, wet… strong. They held me too tight, and I couldn't breathe. Then Meridia shouted at it, told it that it couldn't have me. I saw white… and then I saw Colette staring down at me. I think she… healed me awake."

"She did," Mirabelle affirmed. "As far as we know, lightning cloaks have to wear off, but Faralda and Colette saw that you were  _nautha_ , so Colette cast a healing spell on you that also acted like a ward. For whatever reason, it worked."

I supposed it made sense. "Defense," I said.

"Defense?" Savos asked.

I nodded. "It was the same with the outlaws, saving my friends, and trying not to die…." I knew these two had no idea what I was talking about, but I didn't stop to explain. "I think my magic only works with defense. I defend myself against death, or just… not being able to see. I don't know…. But then other times, I just…," I held out a hand and it glowed and sparkled for a moment. "I think I reacted out of defense." I felt completely pathetic. Marcurio could create fire magic to heat my shower water, and I could barely light a candle when I needed to read. "I am not… my magic is not…," I struggled to explain inconsistent, "it is not the same every day. Sometimes I can do things, and other days not." I looked around us at all the lit candles in my bedroom. "Did I light them?" I asked.

"I don't know," Mirabelle answered. "They were lit when I arrived. Why do you ask?"

I stared at my knuckles. "They were not lit when I slept."

"Hmm, so that's what Faralda was talking about," said Mirabelle. She turned to Savos. "She said Deborah  _mumet_ something about light, and others heard her say something about fire." She then turned to me, but was speaking to Savos. "I think she lit the candles in her dream- _efnir_."

I was getting frustrated. Savos was watching me, eyes glimmering; he must have picked up on my mood.

"You were  _eignat_ , Deborah," he said.

I stared a moment, then slowly shook my head. "I don't know that word."

"Savos,  _really_?" Mirabelle said. "I don't think—"

"She was  _eignat_ , Mirabelle." He turned to the woman. "The eyes," he motioned to his own. "During an  _eignon_ , the eyes are taken over by the  _aadig_  force. I have seen it before with  _hokzen_ … the eyes of the person turn black. Deborah's turned white?"

"Yes," Mirabelle nodded.

"Then my guess," Savos continued, "was that Deborah was  _eignat_  by Meridia, who is anything but a  _hokze_."

"What does 'eignat' mean!?" I blurted, possibly loud enough to be heard outside my room.

"Taken over," Savos answered quickly.

"Taken over?" I repeated.

"By someone, or something else. I think… Meridia entered your body, gave you the power to defend yourself against whatever it was that she saw as an  _ogin_ , and then left your body once she knew you were safe, when Colette healed you."

I blinked at Savos.  _He can't be serious_ , I thought. "Meridia… entered me?"

"I believe so, yes," Savos answered.

I stared at the dark-elf, and kept staring for much longer than I probably should have. When I finally looked away, I asked what I feared the answer to. "And the snakes?"

"That, I do not know," Savos said in a much quieter tone. "Could be… many things. I have a few ideas."

"Meridia would not let it have me. It wanted me. The snakes…. I felt… a pull."

"Onmund said that you said the snakes wanted all. All what?" asked Mirabelle.

Onmund. He was the ornery Nord who always kept a short sword at his hip. He didn't seem to like me very much, but I guessed he, as well as the others, had witnessed my apparent possession. "I don't remember saying that," I answered, and it was the truth.

The three of us sat in silence for a little while, pondering the possibilities of what had happened, and what to do about it.

And then, I wondered. "It entered Meridia's realm," I said.

"What?" Savos asked.

"The snakes, the darkness, the… thing that whispered words I did not understand."

"Whispered words?" Savos was on the edge of his seat.

"The snakes were around me," I narrated the event as I felt it happen all over again. "They tightened. The voice started quiet, but right behind me, or inside my head, then became louder until it was shouting at me. I didn't understand the words. It felt…." I hugged my body, trying to remember the feeling the voice gave me. I felt ill. "It felt… as if it owned me."

Mirabelle gasped. "Oh, my…."

"What was it?" I asked Savos. "The snakes? Is there a… monster? A snake monster?"

Savos sat back in his chair, considering my question. "I can't say for sure."

My mouth became a permanent frown. "I think," I continued, "I have an idea." I used the word  _kenn_ , which likely meant "hypothesis" rather than just an idea. "I told you, Savos, about the portals…."

"Yes?"

I gripped the fur clothing at my sides, ignoring Mirabelle's confused look. "The portal that brought me here…. Meridia said that portals were opening all over Nirn. She said they have before, throughout time…." I couldn't believe that I had been right, about this world influencing the imaginations of people in mine through window-like glimpses, and that J. R. R. Tolkien was influenced by this world. But if that had actually happened, and was happening still, I considered the possibilities and looked Savos in his big red eyes. "What if portals are not just opening between this world and mine, but between… Mundus… and Oblivion? Other worlds like that? What would happen if it did?"

Savos frowned deeply. "It already has."

The Oblivion Crisis. That's what Savos called it – the opening of portals between Mundus and Oblivion. "It happened over two hundred years ago. Every country in the Empire was nearly laid to waste. The College remained entirely unaffected, as it did during the Great Collapse, but much of northern and eastern Skyrim was devastated. But those portals were opened by members of the cult of Mehrunes Dagon – a Daedric  _Hofthin_. They wanted Nirn to become like Mehrunes's realm in Oblivion…." I watched Savos's expression fight with itself. He looked as though he wanted to cry, but wouldn't allow himself the release.

"You were  _there_ ," I breathed the words, not believing the obvious truth. Savos Aren was over two hundred years old.

Mirabelle sat, silent, as entranced as I was.

Savos gave a slow nod. "Indeed. Though truthfully I was not  _there_ so much as merely alive as it happened. I was here, at the College, training mages as an instructor. When contact was cut off from the Arch-Mage in Cyrodiil, I knew something was wrong. Shortly after, word of  _hokzen_ and  _dremoren_   _aadig_  Skyrim reached Winterhold." He shrugged off the memory. "But this was portals opening between Oblivion and Mundus. What you described, in your dream, sounds like portals between realms in Oblivion being opened. But perhaps the two are linked, I do not know."

"So…," I thought out loud, "another Daedra entered Meridia's realm through a portal. She said to me, the first time I talked to her, that her servants entered my world through portals. What if her servants were not the only ones? What if this… snake thing… also saw my world? Saw  _me_?" I felt ill again. "What if it wants me, and that is why Meridia said it could not have me?"

I looked to Mirabelle; she had turned pale. Savos remained outwardly calm, but I could sense his unease. After a moment of silent deliberation, the Arch-Mage spoke again. "You have a power within you, Deborah; that is unquestionable. It seems that the  _Hofthinen_  sense it too, and perhaps even the gods; they have begun to fight for you."

"Fight." I stared at the dark-elf. "For  _me_." The idea was absurd.

"You have something that they want," Savos continued. "Meridia is obviously attempting to shape you into her Champion. This… snake  _hokze_ …," he pushed back his elaborate hood to reveal a thick head of greying black hair, "if it came to you in your dream, perhaps it is not  _you_  that it wants, but rather your mind."

"My mind…?"

"What else would be unique to you?" the dark-elf continued. "Your mind is not of this world. I can imagine the Aedra and Daedra being… excited over the prospect of knowing what you know."

 _Even Ulfric is after my knowledge,_ I thought.

"Savos," Mirabelle whispered, "do you think… Mora?"

The Arch-Mage looked to Mirabelle and then to me. "I don't know about these snakes… but I do know that the Daedric  _Hofthin_ Hermaeus Mora _,_ sometimes considered a  _hokze_ , desires… knowledge. I have heard stories of other Arch-Mages, rulers and heroes being… confronted by Mora, offering gifts in exchange for their help, knowledge or…  _mirn_. And when he appears, it is said, he appears as…," he looked away, trying to find the words, "not snakes, but," he looked to me again, "a dark cloud of snake-like arms, with eyes at the center."

I tried to swallow down the lump in my throat. I whispered my question. "What is… 'hokze'… and 'mirn'?"

"'Hokze' is something of a monster," Savos answered. "'Mirn' is…  _lithne,_ agreeing,… giving up one's body or mind, or life, to someone else."

 _The Devil._  I was being stalked by something evil, a demon or worse, something so bad that Meridia possessed my very body to protect me from it. Or, I considered, perhaps Meridia wasn't protecting me so much as keeping me to herself. A wave of uncertainty passed through me.

Savos may have continued to speak after explaining what  _mir_  meant, I wasn't sure. When I tuned back in, I heard him say, "I think we need to change our approach with you, Deborah. You do not need our instruction…." He crouched down in front of me, grasped my trembling hands, and looked me in the eyes. "You need our help."


	35. A Book of Handwritten Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the inspiration for this chapter came from the song "Until the Last Falling Star" by Matthew Perryman Jones.
> 
> Again, sorry/not sorry for the cliffhanger….!

After "the incident", which my experience with Meridia and the lightning cloak had come to be known as, I couldn't sleep. My brain was all but dead, and I had to eat large meals just to have enough energy to breathe properly. Savos and Mirabelle agreed to leave me alone for a while, expecting that I would meditate or at least think about the gravity of my situation.

My  _situation_. The word held none of the connotations of what was really going on. I was the Child of Akatosh, blessed by the gods, the embodiment of magic, and a highly coveted commodity. I thought about what Meridia, Arkay, Akatosh and Azura did to bring me here, considered that I owed them my life so to speak, but wondered what that really intended for me to do. Meridia called me her champion – Savos made it sound like this meant I would be her slave, but that as her champion I would serve her willingly. I wondered if that would really be such a bad thing. Ralof, Gerdur, Ulfric and Yrsarald prayed to Talos. Stenvar served Dibella, or at least worshipped her – a goddess of sex, art, beauty…. Meridia was a sort of goddess of life and light that hated the undead.  _I hate the undead_ , I kept telling myself, as if I needed the reminder. I had to be honest with myself that I didn't necessarily see helping Meridia – though perhaps not  _serving_ her – as a bad thing. Meridia never gave me any reason to think she wanted to use me, or truly possess me like the snake demon did.

Hermaeus Mora. The snake demon. The reason for my insomnia. Even sleeping potions that Brelyna made for me didn't help. The more Savos thought about the incident, the more he was sure that the Daedra was after me, after my mind, my knowledge. Unlike Meridia, who expressed the desire for me to be a hero of sorts, Mora, as Savos was convinced, just wanted to know about my world. Why the Daedra wanted  _me_ and didn't just grab some other human from my world, I still couldn't understand. Perhaps I was special, given my divine re-making. Perhaps Hermaeus Mora was a jealous demon. Perhaps the portals to my world were closed again.

After several days of no sleep, being completely uncommunicative, and taking overeating to a new level, Marcurio noticed. I didn't understand what he meant when he said I was starting to look like a "fat  _kerlvak",_  but I assumed it was not a compliment and responded with a series of grumbling, inelegant words.

"That's it," Marcurio said, letting the bottom of his goblet land with a thud on the dining table. I watched him as he stood abruptly and walked over to my side. I looked to Brelyna for any kind of explanation, but she only frowned.

"Get up," Marcurio commanded, tugging at the back of my nightclothes, which were all that I'd worn for the past three days. Too tired to ask or care why my friend wanted me to stand, I complied, and was promptly dragged into his bedroom. He peeled back his bedcovers, sat me down on the mattress, kneeled before me, took off my slippers, gave a gentle push for me to lie back, and tucked me in. He then walked over to the other side of the bed, kicked off his boots, and joined me under the covers.

After a few minutes of silent spooning, I had to ask. "What are we doing?"

"You're going to sleep tonight," my friend said.

I started to squirm, but the grip of Marcurio's arm grew tighter. Like the snakes. " _Please_ , I can't breathe…."

"It's just me, Deb." Marcurio wouldn't let go of my waist.

"No, Marc, you're not helping!" I squirmed more, and managed to fight my way to a seated position. My chest heaved with shallow, desperate breaths.

Marcurio sat up, too. "You  _have_  to sleep. I'll lie here with you, awake, just to make sure you're alright."

"Why every time I get like this a man thinks I need him!?" The memory of Yrsarald's overly warm body resurfaced, and I recalled how comforting it was to just lie there with him as I waited for my anxiety attack to pass. I had felt like Yrsarald was hovering at one point, but in the end I knew I needed a shoulder to cry on. Why I was now so defiant about receiving Marcurio's similar help, I didn't know.

"I could go get Brey…," Marcurio offered.

I cupped my face in my palms. "That's not what I mean," I muttered.

A hand took hold of one of mine, and then the other, forcing me to look at my friend. "Fine," Marcurio said, clearly frustrated. "You don't need me, you don't need anyone. But do this  _for_   _me_ , for me and Brey. We're worried  _sick_  about you, Deb. Just… sleep here, with me. I won't touch you, I promise. I won't even talk to you. I'll just watch you sleep, and then  _I'll_ sleep better knowing that  _you're_  sleeping. Alright?"

I stared into my friend's honey-brown eyes. He actually  _was_ worried for me. It was plain enough to see when I actually paid attention to him. I wondered if Brelyna's eyes showed the same heaviness. I opened my mouth to tell Marcurio that I would do as he asked, but was stopped by the sound of glass shattering.

We both jumped, and looked to my left. A wine bottle had managed to find its way from Marcurio's side table to the floor. "Shit!" Marcurio exclaimed as he sprang out of bed. "Toss me a rag, from the small cupboard." I found a rag, and then another, and walked them over to Marcurio, who was muttering curses about a waste of expensive wine. I understood. From the label on the bottle I could tell it was spiced wine from the west – good stuff.

Several minutes of cleaning later, Marcurio made a comment that assured me no sleep that night. "Sometimes I swear there's a  _gaf_  in this place."

"A what?" I asked.

"A  _gaf_. Brey says she keeps feeling breath on her, and some of us have been bumped into by nothing. And now this!" He threw the wine-stained rags into his soiled clothes basket.

 _A ghost. Ghosts, at the college. Wonderful._ "Marc?" I said, sitting back down on his bed.

"Hmm?" he turned to me, hands firmly planted on his hips.

"Can I still… can I…." I swallowed hard, both my pride and fear. "Will you hold me?"

I didn't sleep. Not at first, anyway. But eventually, with Brelyna's sleeping potion and Marcurio spooning me, I managed to sleep for a few hours before my stomach alerted me to the arrival of a new day.

I didn't dream at all that night, and no more wine bottles met an untimely end. For the next week, Marcurio and I slept in his bed together, and each night my slumber went uninterrupted by meetings with Daedra, good or bad. Even my nightmares of zombies, Helgen and dragons ceased. Several days later, Bird was back in town, so I stopped spending the night with Marcurio, despite both of them claiming they didn't mind.

The day after Bird arrived I received a box from Ilmeni. The coincidental timing of both the short note and this box with Bird's arrival convinced me that he was bringing these things with him from Windhelm, but he still wouldn't confirm or deny this. The box contained something of a care package: a box of biscuits, two quills, a small pot of ink, a pouch of tea for lady pains and a calming tea for evenings, cottons for my monthly mess, and a bag of sweet-smelling sticky stuff with the consistency of taffy that I was told was edible. The package contained a list of all the items, written out very clearly. Again, the note was not signed, and I couldn't tell if the handwriting was the same as the note before, nor could I confirm it as a match for Stenvar's notes.

"Is it your birthday?" Brelyna asked when I opened the package.

"Hmm? No. That is in the middle of spring."

"More ink, hmm?" My dark-elf friend brushed her fingers against the small inkpot and quills. "You do write a lot…."

"I practice writing your language," I explained.

"Right….," she said. Marcurio and I had informed Brelyna of my outlander status a week ago. She reacted at first with some trepidation, but soon relaxed again around me. A moment of silence later, Brelyna said, "This looks like things a mother might send her daughter."

"Hmm, it does." She was right. I made a mental list of who would send me such a thing, but all I could come up with was Wuunferth, or maybe Stenvar. But Wuunferth certainly would never have sent me a letter saying that he couldn't sleep, and I wondered who would have. Ulfric seemed possible; Wuunferth told me that he had trouble sleeping sometimes. The Jarl could have sent the gifts to win my favor, but I doubted he would have left the note unsigned if that were the case. I actually began to wonder if Thrynn had heard about what happened to me, felt guilty, and began to send things to the college, expecting I would be there. He might have felt awkward, knowing I might have not accepted gifts from him, and therefore left his name off the note. And then my mind returned to Stenvar, who had already sent me gifts, and maybe thought he didn't need to sign his notes, assuming that I would assume he was the sender.

I kept my musings to myself, but Marcurio and Bird knew about Stenvar. I had told them about how I quickly befriended the sellsword and how well he and I connected. I even told them about how Meridia said that he was sent by Dibella, his patron goddess, to be my friend and ally. Even though I believed Bird knew exactly who the sender was, both he and Marcurio agreed that Stenvar seemed a likely candidate.

Three weeks after the care package arrived, I received a set of papers, each with a well-done sketch and a label. The sketches were of animals. Wolf:  _frekir_. Bear:  _bjorn._ Something that looked like a walrus with three tusks:  _hjorem_. Owl:  _hol_. Eagle:  _okri_. These I couldn't make sense of, but I didn't know Stenvar well enough to know if he could draw or not. I couldn't think of anyone I knew who was an artist, but I recalled that Dibella was the goddess of the arts. I somehow doubted Thrynn was the artist, but I didn't rule him out. Still, I added another check to the "Stenvar column".

If it wasn't for my constant practicing of magic, I would have gone completely crazy from playing "guess the sender". I kept myself so busy that I failed to notice when my one-year anniversary of arriving in Skyrim – that is, around mid-Sun's Dusk – came and went. I said nothing to my friends or Savos.

I began to make a sort of scrapbook of the notes and letters, using glue to paste the papers onto the pages of a new journal that I bought from Birna. Just in case these were being sent by Stenvar, I wanted to keep them safe. If they weren't sent my Stenvar, I thought if I re-examined them from time to time, I might find a clue about the sender's identity.

A month after the sketches arrived, I received a box of dried flowers, mushrooms, and what looked like insect parts. Brelyna practically squealed with delight when she saw the contents. She then explained that the items were used to make healing potions, which once brewed were usually very expensive. Since I had no need or want to learn how to make healing potions, I let her have the box. I kept the note that came with them, however. She confirmed that the note was a list of the included items:  _Blue mountain flower. Wheat. Yellow butterfly wing. Blue_ snuk  _wing. Puk krak_. I asked Brelyna what the words unknown to me were.  _Snuk_ , dragonfly.  _Puk krak_ , a mushroom that was literally called "goblin stool". I tucked the note in my robe and headed to my lesson with Mirabelle, for which I suspected I was already late.

Savos suggested after our meeting that Mirabelle, and not Faralda, be my primary instructor, much to the petite woman's annoyance. Mirabelle held mastery over all the elements including healing magic, and Savos thought I could learn best from her how to find the balance I needed, and find it quickly. He also felt that I was too powerful too soon, having no previous training except for my short time with Wuunferth, and the normal program of study for students at the mage's college would be of no help to me. He warned, though, that there was no defending myself against a Daedric  _Hofthin_ , or Lord – if one wanted me, it would have me. I could, however, defend myself against their servants, and at least gain a mastery over the magic that I was born with in this world. As Savos had put it, it couldn't hurt.

As soon as I received actual instruction as opposed to just being  _shown_  magic, I mastered various destruction spells. Soon enough I was creating balls of fire and spears of ice, and my chain lightning spell – sparks that jumped from one target to another – surpassed the power of even Marcurio and Onmund, who had been training for twenty and ten years respectively, though only a fraction of that officially with the college.

The more I practiced, the more spells I could cast without tiring. I soon learned how to use one hand to cast offensive magic while using the other to cast either a healing spell or a ward. Mirabelle and I quickly figured out that my ward spell absorbed magic from others and used it to rejuvenate my own magical energies. This, she said, could be the biggest advantage I could have over other mages and magical creatures.

I didn't ask her what sorts of magical creatures I might encounter. I didn't want to know.

Eventually, I talked with Savos about what I feared was Meridia's intent, and what she thought would happen in Skyrim. He suggested that I begin to learn a few defensive spells to ward off the undead, just in case I was right. The fact that spells existed that  _warded off the undead_ , confirming that zombies weren't exactly a rarity in this world, was enough for me to want to curl up in a ball and die, but I didn't tell him that. I worked with Colette to learn her most powerful spell which was meant to turn away the undead. Not currently having any zombies around, however, I couldn't tell if it worked or not, but Colette assured me it would.

The special attention I received from the Arch-Mage and Mirabelle did not win me more friends, but Marcurio and Brelyna, and eventually Elodie and Osana, were all the friends I needed. The five of us – six, when Bird was around – always dined together. Elodie and Osana were both practicing conjuration magic, and because Savos suggested I learned how to banish Daedra, I often worked with them and Phinis Gestor, their primary instructor.

While working with Elodie and Osana, I had to continually ignore their sweet lovey-dovey gestures and stolen kisses. What made things even worse was the day I realized that I was somewhat attracted to Elodie. She reminded me of a Celtic goddess with her golden hair and emerald eyes. She was my height, and had a rounded face with wide, very high cheekbones. She was possibly the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. To make things worse, she was also a lovely person.

The day I realized I was attracted to Elodie, she, Osana, Marcurio, Brelyna and I were enjoying an evening at the Winterhold inn which boasted several large hot spring hot tubs. Onmund had expressed interest in wanting to join, but Marcurio joked that it was "ladies only", eliciting a scowl from the young Nord.

The hot spring water was taken in from deep within the earth, and each hot tub was housed separately, essentially creating several private saunas. The town made meager revenue this way, I learned. Late into the evening, after several shared bottles of strong wine and deciding to collectively ditch all of our underwear, Elodie and Osana locked lips and never came up for air again. Sitting across from them in the water, Brelyna and I with Marcurio between us tried not to stare, but it was impossible to completely ignore the lovers. A few minutes after Elodie and Osana increased the intensity of their embrace, I felt a hand brush against the nape of my neck. When I turned, nothing was there, but Brelyna bolted out of the hot tub, gathered her clothes and a towel, and promptly left the sauna.

"What is wrong with her?" I whispered to Marcurio.

"Brey's been on edge for weeks. Months, even." He signed. "I tried to ask her what was wrong, but she refused to say. I think she still thinks she's being stalked by a ghost."

I neglected to mention that I thought she had touched my neck a moment ago.

We continued to attempt not to watch Elodie and Osana, but when they started to moan, Marcurio and I exchanged knowing looks and simultaneously decided it was time to leave. As we dried off in the changing room, I accidentally caught a glimpse of Marcurio's flaccid penis. "So…," I said, turning my gaze away, "that truly did nothing for you?"

"Hmm?" Marcurio looked at me while toweling his hair dry.

"Elodie and Osana, you know…." I wrapped a towel turban-style around my once again long hair.

My friend stared at me, his towel-drying momentarily paused. He then laughed and continued to dry his chiseled, olive-tan, and largely hairless body. "No, a woman's body does  _nothing_  for me. Nope."

Nonetheless, I wrapped a towel around my own nakedness. "And that's why you sometimes come here together?"

"Yes. It started with Brey – she's not attracted to men. And then Elodie and Osana came to the college. They are heavily committed to each other, and they didn't mind Brey being around them. There was never any problem. Bird, however," Marcurio chuckled, "well, he's not allowed to join in, not after…," his sentence trailed off. "And neither is Onmund. He knows this, but he saw you going with us, and thought perhaps we'd changed our minds."

"Why would he think that?"

Marcurio walked up to me, towel thankfully hiding the lower half of his beautiful body, and said with a finger tap to the tip of my nose, " _You_  know why."

I stared at my friend. "I do?"

He laughed and sat down on the wooden bench. "Well, maybe you don't realize it. Hopefully Osana is too… preoccupied to notice."

"Notice what?"

Marcurio patted the bench for me to sit next to him. I did. "You're obviously attracted to Elodie. I've noticed. Brelyna's noticed. Bird's noticed, and he isn't even here most of the time. Couldn't you sense the way you reacted to them in the tub? I could. So could Brelyna."

My eyebrow cocked on its own accord. "How did you…?" Marcurio's smile told me he knew more than he let on. "That is why Brelyna left?"

"Maybe. But she doesn't like it when Elodie and Osana do that in front of others. It just makes her… well, unhappy. But she's been particularly unhappy lately."

I stared at our naked feet. "Does Brelyna… desire me?"

Marcurio wrapped his arm around my shoulders and sighed. "I'll leave that for her to answer."

"Marc…."

He stood, ditched his buckskin towel, and proceeded to dress. I couldn't help but take in the sight of his lovely rear-end. "I'm not getting involved," he said poignantly.

"Wh-… Why not? Marc, just tell me."

"Nope, nope…." Marcurio shook his head furiously, quickly finished dressing, and left.

I stared angrily at my naked, lonely feet. "I  _am_ attracted to her," I admitted to myself.  _Damnit_. Seeing Elodie naked in the hot tub did cause "special tingles" to arise, but for whatever reason I didn't want to admit to myself that I was attracted to a woman. A beautiful, half-elf woman. A  _married_  half-elf woman. I blamed the attraction on my extreme sexual frustration, missing Stenvar, and the unquestionable fact that Elodie was a living goddess. I knew I was not attracted to Brelyna. To me, dark-elves looked like aliens, and I couldn't get over the sight of their horrible red eyes. Brelyna was incredibly kind, and quickly became a great friend, but I just didn't see her in that light. Admitting to myself that I was instead attracted to Elodie, an  _unavailable_  elf woman that wasn't Brelyna, and knowing that Brelyna  _knew_  I was attracted to Elodie, made me extremely sad.

For the first time, I seriously considered that it was Brelyna who was sending me the gifts and letters. Marcurio's silence on the matter of her attraction to me was particularly convincing. But then I recalled I had given her those alchemy ingredients. If Brelyna had sent them to me secretly, she wouldn't have been so excited to see them, and it wouldn't have delighted her so much when I gave them to her.

I never broached the topic with Brelyna.

A month after I received the alchemy ingredients, I received what was apparently a short poem.

_Tolse tolst zeik, ath zeik tolst tolse. Van tolse tolser, hver skul tolsa tolse?_

As best I understood it, the poem read:  _A healer healed me, and I healed a healer. Without a healer to heal, who will heal a healer?_

Marcurio and Bird found it cute, but I didn't really understand the meaning behind the words. It ended up giving me a headache. Lost in translation, I assumed. Marcurio said it was a  _gata_ , which from how he explained it, I guessed was a riddle. Riddles in English were one thing, but a riddle in a language I was still learning was not something I wanted to tackle. But the words "healed" and "healer" got me thinking, and once again I thought Thrynn might have been the sender. I then however realized that Thrynn never "healed" me, and I was back to thinking that Stenvar was the sender.

When spring set in, I received a small book with no title and no author. It contained a short story.

_One day, a bear heard a hunter approaching, and ran to alert his sister. But the bear was too late, and found his sister already killed by the hunter. The bear grew so angry that it attacked everyone in sight – his bear friends, the hunter, even the birds and rabbits. Ashamed of his actions, the bear retreated to a cave for several years to think about what he had done and pray to the gods for forgiveness. Several years passed before he felt he had learned his lesson and allowed himself to return to his home forest. His friends welcomed him happily, but he knew he had to keep his distance from them for fear his anger would erupt again._

_Even though he was back in the forest, he rarely made new friends. He grew lonelier and lonelier as the years dragged on, until one magical day when he crossed paths with a beautiful princess. She too was lonely, she even cried sometimes, and this made the bear sad. Eventually the bear offered the princess his fur to dry her tears, and the two became friends. But instead of being happy, the bear grew even more sad, because he soon fell in love with the princess. He prayed and prayed for the gods to turn him into a man, and finally the gods heard his pleas._

_He woke up one morning next to the sleeping princess and realized that he was cold. Confused, he walked over to a nearby pond and was startled at his reflection. He was a man! The gods had heard his prayers and had answered them! But when he approached the princess, she didn't believe him. She yelled at him, thinking he had killed the bear or scared it away, and ran back to her castle, drenched by her own tears that became an unending rainfall. The gods were crying. The bear-man tried to visit her, but she refused to greet him, and even had the guards forever keep him away from the castle._

_Months and months passed until the bear-man could stand his grief no longer. Desperate for the princess to believe him, he stole a bearskin from a hunter's cabin and wrapped it around himself. He prayed to the gods to make everyone around him see him as a bear, and it worked! He waited and waited for the princess to return to the forest to pick flowers and mushrooms, and when she finally came, he walked up to her in his bear disguise._

_The princess was so thrilled to once again see her bear friend that she hugged and kissed the bear-man in disguise. Confident that the princess would believe him this time when he revealed who he was to her, he flung off the bearskin and stood before the princess. She was frightened, of course, but she finally realized what had happened. She felt horrible for ignoring the bear-man this whole time, but he told her not to cry. He forgave her, just as his forest friends had forgiven him years ago. The princess took the bear-man's hand in hers, and walked with him back to her castle. The bear-man no longer feared his volatile anger, and the pair never knew loneliness again._

It took me at least an hour to read the entire text, and I realized that the story must have been a fairy tale told in Skyrim. When I showed my friends the book, however, they didn't recognize the story. I couldn't figure out why someone would send me a fairy tale. And since my friends hadn't heard this story before, I wondered if someone had  _written_ it for me. Since the text was long, I was able to compare it to the rest of the mystery notes. I then compared the book text to the notes Stenvar had written, and the more recent one could have been a match. The problem with the Norren language however was that the alphabet was largely made up of blocky letters, and block letters in English were notorious for hiding penmanship style.

Two weeks after the book arrived, right around when my birthday must have been – my thirtieth – I received another short note. At that point, I had grown weary of the anonymity and constant guessing, and didn't even want to open the letter. Brelyna, who had ostensibly gotten over her unrequited crush on me, snatched the letter from my hands and ungracefully opened the unstamped red wax seal. I reluctantly listened as she read the note.

" _Da lift da hem, fjar nol hvas da vit._

_Naer da fallt, da fallt ti zeik,_

_Eth tha da lift zeik._

_Freist hvar ena, eth nuk lafa ena zeik skelfa._

_Hvan vit tid zeik vaka nuk._

_Zeik da seknig erin dejar._

_Dala naer da megas,_

_Thvia da stelt mina hjarta._

_Kir, tele zeik sov, leith ti das."_

I watched Brelyna as she read the note. The note that was clearly a love letter. I saw a familiar sadness cloud her eyes, but she quickly blinked it away. I couldn't help but feel a gut-wrenching emotion of my own. My friend's fingers loosened their grip on the paper and I slipped the note from her hands. I needed to read the words myself, to make sure I understood them correctly.

_You left your home, far from what you knew._

_When you fell, you fell to me,_

_But then you left me._

_I tried to go alone, but now life alone me_ skelfa _._

_Who knows the time I've been awake now._

_I am missing you enough to die._

_Return when you can,_

_For you have stolen my heart._

_Please, tell me the secret, the way to yours._

I knew I understood it, all but one word, but I almost didn't want to believe what I was reading.

"What does 'skelfa' mean?" I asked my friends.

"This…," Brelyna held out a trembling hand. I couldn't tell if she was merely demonstrating, or if her hands had actually been trembling.

Bird put his arm around me as I stared at the note. The love letter. The love letter to me.

I'd never received such a thing in my life – neither of my lives. My brain flitted through the possibilities of authors. It definitely wasn't Thrynn; he left me. It wasn't Brelyna, of this I was now sure. I doubted it was Ulfric or Yrsarald, for I hadn't ever healed them. It wasn't Wuunferth, more than likely. If it was him, I wasn't sure how I'd handle that. Then there was Ralof, but Ralof had Eyleif, and I didn't leave him. I couldn't think of anyone else besides Stenvar who I knew well enough for them to miss me enough to die.

I thought back to the sketches, all of animals, and the fairy tale book about a bear and a princess. Stenvar traveled a lot. He described himself as an adventurer. Did adventurers travel alone? Adventurers certainly came upon the odd object here and there. Stenvar had sent me a book before, one about the races of Tamriel. Stenvar was older, much older than me. Did Stenvar consider himself the bear, and I the princess? The beast and the beauty?

"It has to be him, right?" I asked my friends.

Marcurio and Bird just shrugged. Brelyna made no expression at all. Elodie and Osana just smiled and nodded – they found my secret admirer problem to be both amusing and adorable.

"But if he misses me so much, why not just come here? It is spring now, not as cold. I don't understand," I said, letting the note fall to the dining table.

"Maybe he just can't," Bird said.

"Or he thinks you'd be too busy with your lessons," Marcurio offered.

"Or he's afraid," Brelyna uttered under her breath.

"Afraid?" I asked.

My dark-elf friend gave a vague nod. "Afraid you won't feel the same. It's terrifying."

She was right, and I knew she was well-acquainted with the emotion. Then I remembered how I felt around Ralof a year ago. It  _was_  terrifying.

Stenvar would have reason to be afraid, I thought. He had twenty-three years on me, and considered me beautiful, among other things. He also didn't see himself as much of a prize; he had his two divorces and infertility to thank for that, I supposed. As silly as it seemed to me, he may have considered himself unworthy of me for these reasons.

The invisible fist clenching my stomach wouldn't relent, and I had to excuse myself. That night I tried to sleep in vain, and ended up alternating between staring at the stone ceiling of my bedroom and re-reading the notes and letters and the book I was sent.

Three days later at breakfast, I heard a familiar voice call my name. It was Faralda.

"Yes?" I turned to her.

"I have a note for you. It was left at the entryway to the bridge." Faralda walked the note over to me and spared no more time, walking back the way she came immediately.

I opened the tightly-folded note so quickly, it tore.

" _Aiii_ , careful!" Marcurio squealed. "What if it's another love letter?"

Ignoring him, I read the letter slowly, as if I feared what it might say. It was short, but effective. My eyes darted up to meet Marcurio's.

He stared back at me. "Well!?"

I turned the paper around to let Marcurio read the short note.

_I'm at the inn._

_-Stenvar_


	36. At the End of the Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Feels and NSFW stuff contained below.

Stenvar. Stenvar. It had to be him. I recalled what he had said to me in the outlaw's cave; it seemed so out of place at the time, but now, I wondered.  _If you were my woman I'd have torn apart the whole of Tamriel looking for you._  Before I got to know the man, I was somewhat put off by the remark. Now, it all came together. Stenvar liked something about me even before he and I got drunk and gave each other multiple orgasms. There must have been something I liked about the man, too, or else I would have never reciprocated his advances.

I forced myself not to dwell on the possibility that Dibella  _caused_  him to like something about me in order for him to agree to help me, or caused  _me_ to like something about Stenvar. Even if the goddess did influence Stenvar's or my feelings initially, there was no reason for her to keep doing so. Or so I hoped.

Stenvar had sent me expensive gifts  _and_ returned the money Wuunferth gave me to hire him. It  _had_ to be him sending me all these gifts and letters.

"Go," Marcurio said, a sparkle of vicarious hope in his eyes.

I still had it with me, the love letter, tucked into my mage's robe. Was Stenvar trembling without me?

I jumped up from the bench and left the dining hall, ran down to the practice hall to grab my fur cloak where I'd left it, sped through the courtyard, and began my descent down the bridge toward the town. Halfway down I had to stop running; the bitter cold tugged at my chest and nearly gave me an asthma attack. I saw the smoke billowing out of the chimney of the inn and imagined Stenvar sipping – no, chugging – pints of mead as if it were water.

The closer I got to the inn, the harder my heart pounded. I realized it wasn't just the bitter cold that held my chest in an ever-tightening grip. The thudding in my ears increased in intensity until I thought I was having another anxiety attack. The sign to the Frozen Hearth Inn flapped back and forth as the strong winds buffeted against the placard. It was the perfect visual representation of my heart.

_It had to be him. It wouldn't be anyone else._

I stepped up to the inn door and immediately heard mixed voices, both male and female, singing a rather vivacious tune.  _Drinking songs exist here too, then_ , I realized. With a trembling hand I pushed on the inn door and, as always, was welcomed by a burst of heat given off by the large central hearth. The song that a group of people was singing was difficult to understand, either due to my untrained ear, the mix of voices, or their possible inebriation.

" _Ath naer zeik deja nei zeik brenn'_  


_Med mjoth smire mina beinen"_

And then he spotted me. Stenvar stopped singing while the others continued.

" _Leg' belsken yf min' fot ath klovt_  


_Ath tha zeik vit zeik skul varthvat'!"_

He wasn't wearing his steel armor but rather hide trousers and a flimsy, open-chested linen shirt with ties in the front that nicely showcased his extravagant tattoo. I nervously watched him as his lips spread in a grin and his chest puffed several times with a chuckle. He was holding a mug – full of mead, no doubt – but that didn't stop me from darting past the other patrons and jump-hugging the man. Even over the din of the continued singing I heard the mead slosh in his mug. Stenvar's hearty, guttural laugh caressed the side of my neck as I held him tight. His free hand pressed against the small of my back as he returned the embrace.

"Hey, sweetheart," he spoke into my ear. The words were like music to my soul. "I see you got my hood," I felt his hand smooth over the white fur hood that I had Birna attach to my fur cloak.

"Who is this?" a woman's voice called from behind me. I turned to see a tall, slender but strong-looking dark-elf woman wearing a linen underarmor vest and short leather skirt. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest and an eyebrow cocked questioningly. The dark-elf woman, strikingly beautiful for someone who still looked like an alien to me, looked as if she was owed some kind of explanation.

My breath momentarily caught in my throat.

"Jenassa, this is Deb." Stenvar slipped an arm around my shoulders. "Deb, this is Jenassa, one of my oldest friends."

My breath recommenced. "Hello," I said, still nervous.

"My, my…," the elf-woman neglected to hide a surprised expression as we clasped forearms, the standard greeting in Skyrim between casual acquaintances and particularly friends-of-friends, I'd learned. "You never said she was so deliciously young…." When her fingers began to dance down the length of my arm I slowly pulled away from her.

Stenvar gave a nervous laugh. His response was cut off by a young redhead man who walked up to Jenassa's side. "Who's delicious?" he asked. He looked like a skittish squirrel.

"Oh, get off it, Erik," Jenassa rolled her eyes at him then turned back to me. "This is Erik, my… trainee."

" _Companion,_ " Erik corrected her with a sharp glance, eliciting a sigh from the elf woman.

The young man had the brightest red hair and clearest bluest eyes I'd ever seen. "Hello, Erik," I said as we clasped forearms. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five. I looked back to Jenassa and wondered how old she was. I wasn't young at all, recently turned thirty, but Jenassa could have been one hundred years old for all I knew. She didn't look a day over forty, however.

"I guess ya got my note," Stenvar said before sipping the remaining mead from his mug.

"Yes, just a moment ago." I then realized the inn patrons were drinking heavily in the mid-morning. "A bit early for mead, isn't it?" I said with a grin, hoping my comment wouldn't be interpreted as criticism, though in truth it was.

"We are celebrating," Jenassa answered for Stenvar.

I turned back to Stenvar. "Celebrating what?"

Stenvar grinned and removed his arm from me. He hummed in thought and rubbed the back of his neck.  _Is he blushing?_  "I, ehh…, we just got back from Dawnstar last night. Got somethin' Jarl Korir wanted from this old ruin near there. And I did a few other favors for 'im, and for some of the people in town. It wasn't anything special, really. I—"

"Jarl Korir made him  _Puzan_ ," Jenassa interjected.

"What?" I asked.

"Ehh,  _Puzan_ , it's…," Stenvar searched for an explanation, "a rank, of sorts. He gave me one of the empty houses in town."

"He gave you a house!?" I asked, for some reason both shocked and thrilled.

"Do not get too excited," Jenassa laughed, "it is barely more than a  _kiv_. The rest of us have to sleep in the inn."

"If ya want the house so badly Jenassa, you can have it," Stenvar humored.

"Gods, no. I do not want to live up here. Besides, you already gave me the sword Korir gave you. Just make me a spare key so that I can use the house when I am here and you are not." Jenassa winked a red-brown eye at me and turned toward the bar, Erik trailing behind her.

Stenvar breathed a sigh through his nose and turned back to me. Several wordless seconds later, he asked, "Wanna see it?"

The house was small, and boasted only one room and two small windows. There was barely anything in the place – a double bed with linen sheets and an animal fur cover, a cooking pot, a small pantry, and a dining table with two chairs. Stenvar's steel armor sat in a pile in an empty corner.

Stenvar took off his cloak and tossed it onto the empty dining table. "I'll light a fire," he said, starting for the hearth where I saw a fire-starting kit.

"No, let me," I said, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling myself in front of him. I held out my right hand just above the three large, unused logs that sat on a simple andiron. I felt my palm heat as it sent energy to the wood, causing it to ignite first with a spark, and then finally a gentle flame. While I could have easily sent a ball of fire into the hearth, I thought it best not to, just in case the flame was too large and set the house aflame. The transfer of heat energy was safer for lighting hearths and candles. That is what Faralda did the day she gave me my first "lesson". The transfer of energy in this way was very similar to telekinesis, but was specific to heat. One could also freeze water with the same magic. And, apparently, as I recently learned, healing magic was in the same "family" of magic as energy transfer. Healing magic was more complicated than just closing wounds and removing contamination; healing magic actually stimulated the body to heal itself, just like energy transfer stimulated wood and wicks, or anything flammable, to ignite.

"Impressive," Stenvar said as the hearth fire grew to a pleasant size.

I turned to him, wondering what to say. It had been about six months since I'd seen Stenvar, and I was nervous. Even if he hadn't sent me all those gifts, I would have been just as nervous. My arms hung awkwardly at my sides for a moment before I finally shifted out of my cloak. Stenvar held out a hand to take it from me, and then hung it over the back of a chair. Turning back to me, he looked me up and down.

"Is that the robe I sent ya?" he asked with a grin.

My own grin was so wide, it hurt. "Yeah. I wanted to write a letter to thank you, but," I took a couple steps toward him, "I didn't know where you were."

He shrugged. "No worries. I was all over the place. It was only a few weeks ago that I got the letter you gave to Elda sayin' ya went to the College."

I smiled, but turned away. I wanted to bring up the subject of the other gifts, of the letter that was tucked in my robe, but doubt still nagged at my brain. I bit my lip, unsure of what to say. I pretended to look around the house a bit more, as if there was anything I'd missed. I heard him step closer to me.

"What did that song mean?" I blurted. "Something about mead and bones. I didn't understand the rest."

I felt a hand trail down my arm. It ended its journey by intertwining its fingers with mine. I turned back to Stenvar in time to be face to face with the man. A corner of his mouth turned up in a half-grin.

"N' when I die," he spoke in a deep, languid tone, his other hand coming to rest on my cheek, "don't burn me." His calloused thumb brushed against my blushing flesh. "With mead, cover my bones." I realized he was voicing the lyrics of the drinking song. "Place mugs at my foot n' head." His serious grey eyes gazed into mine. "And then, I know I'll've been saved." I had to remember to breathe when he wrapped our commingled arms around my back, pressing me closer against him. "My nose is red like wine," he smiled as he continued, "I'm as sad as the clouded sky. And, yet," his hand on my cheek drifted to hold my neck, "I guess, before I stop, we oughta drink another drop."

And then he kissed me. His lips were more chapped now, and I wondered if I could heal them.

 _Later_ , I told myself,  _later…._

Stenvar held me to him with a tight grip, as if I would have ever wanted to leave. His intertwined fingers left mine and instead spread over my fleshy backside, trying in earnest to feel my curves through my robe.

My need for sexual contact had been a constant and escalating bother ever since I'd arrived in Winterhold, and Stenvar's touch ensured that I might explode if I didn't have him, and soon. I moved my hands to cup his scruffy face as our tongues met once again after such a long absence. His hands now both kneaded and squeezed my rear-end, and I couldn't take the teasing anymore.

The bed was to his left. Still entwined, I pivoted and slowly walked him backwards. Stenvar landed with a grunt, breaking our kiss with an amused chuckle. Taking advantage of the freedom to move, I tugged at the hide thong that held up my leggings. Once loose they slid down my hips, and I stood to kick them along with my boots off of me with record-breaking speed. Stenvar had already tugged at his belt, and the front of his trousers fell open. Sparing no more time on the removal of clothing, I climbed back on top of Stenvar's lap, shifted my ladybriefs to the side while Stenvar shifted his loincloth down, and I lowered myself onto him.

The sensation of being filled was immediate, and nearly overwhelming. My moans were pathetic little whines of desperation as I rode the man. With one hand he gripped my hip and pushed my body up and down. With the other he tugged at the opening of my robe, seeking flesh. Successful, he bared a shoulder, and sucked and nipped at my skin. I cried out unintelligible sounds. My fingers clenched at his back, dragging nails against the thin fabric of his shirt. His mouth then found the space between my bound breasts before tracing the edge of the crisscrossed fabric with his tongue. Both of his hands were now gripping my hips, aiding me in moving faster. Somehow amidst the jostling, Stenvar managed to take between his teeth a turgid nipple through the linen binding.

I found my release. Still thrusting down onto him, my climax lingered as he began thrusting up, fast. I moaned Stenvar's name. His teeth still bit down, painfully then gently onto the nipple he had found. I began to scream from the devastating pleasure. When he removed his mouth from my breast I expected him to kiss me, but instead he flipped us around and pinned me onto the mattress beneath him. My legs wrapped around his waist and his fingers dug into my hips as he hammered into me. Though nearly breathless, I moaned and screamed and squealed as I continued to orgasm. Stenvar soon gave shallow grunts, signaling his own impending climax. I pressed one hand against his chest and clenched at the inked muscular flesh, and with my other hand pressed his palm against my hip. His thrusting shifted to slow and deep, and as he released inside me I cried out his name, again and again.

As Stenvar descended his peak and ceased his thrusting, he pressed his forehead against mine. His hands had traveled to both my waist and neck, and he clung to my robe. With a grunt, he fell to my side, spent.

We napped, then, for some time. My growling stomach woke me, and Stenvar's was rumbling as well. He was awake. With a laugh, he said, "I'll find somethin' for us to eat."

While munching on some dried fruits and strips of jerky, I finally mustered the courage to talk to Stenvar about everything that had happened to me since he left.

Well, almost everything.

"I have... things to tell you."

"Oh?"

I told Stenvar about the undead woman, the necromancer I meagerly helped to find; about Ulfric's attention and Yrsarald's friendship; my assisting Wuunferth; and finally about Meridia, the gods, Hermaeus Mora, and what had actually happened with the portal. I left out the part where Meridia told me to keep Stenvar close by me.

"You once said you know things about the gods," I continued. "Does this sound... possible? Is Savos correct? Am I... the creation of a god?"

The stunned expression that had swept over Stenvar's face as I highlighted the past six months of my life spoke volumes. His lips parted as words that he wanted to speak failed to form. "I... I don't know, Deb. That seems...," he gave a nervous laugh. " _Va_..." I wasn't quite sure yet, but I was starting to think that the word " _va_ " meant something like "wow". He smoothed his hand down his face and covered his mouth. His eyes were wide with disbelief, or possibly horror. He dropped his hand to grasp mine. "You truly were brought here for a reason..."

"I know, it is... unbelievable. And now this... thing..." I lifted my hand from his and with both made "crazy hands" to aid in expressing my utter frustration at coming to terms with who and what I was. "This demon wants me for what I know, Savos thinks. Meridia wants me to be her 'champion', but... I don't know if I can. But I am getting very good with magic. Savos the Arch-Mage trains me. Some students are jealous..." I shrugged. "But I have had no more Daedra dreams in a long time, so I think they are letting me be alone for now." I pulled the leather thong that had been keeping my hair tied back and combed my mussed locks with my fingers.

A few moments of silence passed before he spoke. "Your hair is long again." His voice was quiet. "And you lost weight."

My hair was quickly tied back in a neater, low-lying ponytail. "Magic takes energy. Before I came here I got fat from pies."

Stenvar laughed.

Working my way down a long strip of dried beef, I lay back down next to Stenvar and stared at the ceiling. "Six months is too long to not have sex," I said with a laugh.

"Six months?" Stenvar asked.

"Mm, since the tent." My head rested on his shoulder.

"No one at the College, then?"

"Hmm? No." I neglected to mention my innocent crush on the married Elodie, and Brelyna's crush on me.

"Six months…. I don't think I could go that long."

I laughed. But then I realized the implications of what he had said. I turned on my side to face him. "You… had sex? Before now? After…."

Stenvar's blank expression was unnerving. "Well, yeah. At the spring ritual."

I blinked, slowly, once. "The spring ritual?"

"At Dibella's temple in Markarth. First day of First Seed." I watched as Stenvar's jaw muscles clenched. "It's… well, expected of her followers, but not required. I go sometimes, despite not bein' able to make children."

I lowered my gaze to the man's flowering tattoo. Dibella's flower, on Dibella's follower. Stenvar's palm pressing against my cheek urged me to look at his face again. I shifted uneasily, tugging at my robe to straighten it out, cover myself. I then heard a rustling sound, as did Stenvar, and his gaze dropped to my waist.

"What's this?" he asked, picking up a folded piece of paper.

 _The love letter_ , I realized. My heart decided it no longer needed to beat and I thought my eyes might pop out of my skull. Strangling anxiety gripped my body and I froze as Stenvar opened the folded paper. The love letter I'd assumed he'd written. He may well have, but I was still not totally convinced.

He didn't seem unhappy. He didn't act like he couldn't sleep. He wasn't trembling.

I willed myself not to faint.

He finished reading quickly, and his eyes darted up to meet mine. "Did you write this?" he asked, a strange expression taking form on his face.

My heart met my stomach.

I opened my mouth to speak, but it took a moment to utter the simple word. "N-no." I stared at the man who stared back at me. I couldn't read his expression at all. "I thought…." My mouth hung open like a dying fish. "I thought  _you_  did."

Stenvar's brow furrowed and he looked again to the letter. He shook his head. "No, Deb, I didn't. I would've signed my name..." He refolded the letter and handed it back to me. With a trembling hand, I accepted it, and promptly shoved it back into the pocket of my robe. He continued to stare at me with his poker face. I began to feel uncomfortable.

"So…," my voice was barely more than a whisper, "it wasn't you that sent the other notes? The big package or sketches? Flowers?"

Stenvar shook his head. "I sent you this robe n' hood, and a book, plus that gold ya gave me. And that other hood." His eyes were studying me. "Someone's... sendin' you gifts? Anonymously?"

My jaw stiffened and I was certain that I was fighting a frown. "Yes. Almost since the day I got here." I looked away from Stenvar.

"Sounds like someone's in love with ya," he said, plainly and without any hint of jealousy. "It's not surprising." I looked at him – he was smiling, but something about the smile seemed strange. "I hope ya find out who it is, or that they tell ya soon."

 _Don't cry. Don't you dare cry._ "I will, somehow. It can only be a small amount of people." I looked away again. I couldn't bear to look at the man who was not sending me the notes, the gifts, the love letters. The man I had just had amazing sex with. The man who practiced sex as an art. Often. During rituals. In the name of a goddess.

Stenvar gripped my chin with his thumb and finger, turned my head, and planted a gentle kiss on my forehead. "Whoever it is," he said with a smile, "I hope he deserves you."

In that moment, I began to see Stenvar in a different light. I wondered if all these months away from him, under all the stresses I had encountered, if I hadn't worked up a false image of him in my mind to anchor my sanity.

Stenvar was a friend. A wonderful friend. A wonderful friend with benefits.

But Stenvar was not in love with me. Perhaps, I realized, I wasn't in love with him, either, and I had just craved intimacy, the type of intimacy I had known with him.

And, yet, the way he looked at me when he said he hoped my secret admirer deserved me made me wonder. Before now, I had harbored doubts that Stenvar was that admirer, and I was right. But the way he held me earlier, the way he kissed me... the way he was looking at me at that very moment planted a different seed of doubt in my mind. But his strange expression was fleeting, and was soon replaced with an honest smile.

"So, tell me more about this 'Child of Akatosh' thing," he said, offering me his side to snuggle up to.

After a casual discussion about gods and Daedra, and despite Stenvar's requests for me to stay, we said our goodbyes, but not before sharing a final, intimate embrace. I even healed his chapped lips. I thanked him profusely for the robe and hood and everything else. He said he, Jenassa and Erik were headed to the south in the morning, but promised to let me know when he was in Winterhold again. He even said he would make me a copy of the house key and have it sent to me at the college. I promised to let him know when I graduated, although I made it clear that my program wasn't traditional and I wasn't being trained like a student, and therefore I didn't know if I had anything to graduate from. He wished me luck, though, with everything.

As I trudged out into the snow toward the bridge to the college, I looked back to see Stenvar watching me leave, his expression once again unreadable. I smiled at my friend, and then continued on my way.

The icy winds froze the tears to my face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Please don't hate me. Or Stenvar. Or Deb. Or her secret admirer.
> 
> The songs I kept listening to while thinking about this chapter included:
> 
> David Ramirez "Drunk" (guh...)
> 
> David Ramirez "I Think I Like You"
> 
> Sanders Bohlke "Til My Days Are Through"
> 
> Susie Suh "All I Want"
> 
> Joe Purdy "If I Had You"
> 
> Rosie Thomas "Farewell" (*dies a horrible, horrible death from suffocating feels overload*)
> 
> The Stenvar/Deb (nsfw) reunion feels were inspired by "You and I" by Lady Gaga.
> 
> The inspiration for Stenvar's tavern outfit comes from this awesome commission art: tinyurl.com/mv8pncv
> 
> The drinking song was adapted from "Little Brown Jug".
> 
> Here's the rest of the drinking song in Norren, if you're curious.
> 
> Min' naf er roth likke vin
> 
> Zeik eg bira likke him
> 
> Ath tho zeik get' us zeik stotha
> 
> Ver skuula drek' anar falla
> 
> I'm going to go hide now so you fine people don't come at me with torches and pitchforks and tomatoes and cabbages.


	37. Field Trip

"Well, hey, it's not the end of the world," Marcurio shrugged as he put an arm around me.

After returning to the College from visiting Stenvar I wanted to be alone, but my friend found me in my bedroom. He used a spell to detect living beings to find me.

_Sneaky fucker._

"Besides, didn't you say he had, what, twenty years on you?" he continued.

"Twenty-three," I corrected Marcurio. "And I don't care. I really like him..."

"Do you love him?"

I didn't answer, not immediately. I didn't know what my answer would have been.

"If you have to think about it…."

"I love him, Marc. I love him. But maybe... I don't know. There are different loves."

"You mean different  _kinds_ of love? Sure there are." Marcurio reclined on my bed and invited me in for a snuggle. "Like the way Mystery Person obviously loves you is not the same as Stenvar sending you a fur hood."

"Stenvar is...," I sighed, forgetting my Norren vocabulary and searching for an appropriate alternative to "considerate" or "thoughtful". Stress and emotional exhaustion were not helping. "Stenvar is kind and knows what people need."

"Did he write you a love letter, though?" Marcurio's expression spoke a million words.

"No. But his face when he saw it..." I whimpered and wrapped an arm around my friend's torso. The cloth of his mage's robe felt good, comforting. "He was... surprised or... maybe... hurt. I can't be sure. But he then acted like he was happy for me."

"Well, take it from me,  _el'a_ , just because you have sex with someone doesn't mean they love you or you, them."

" _Pfft_. I know. I am not a child. I have had sex with no love. But, you know," I continued, "it is a... kind of love. I already miss him."

"Isn't he not leaving until tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"So why are you  _here_?"

My fingers trailed the trim of Marcurio's robe. "It felt...," again I had to search for the words – inappropriate, uncomfortable, weird – "wrong to be there with him. I can't explain."

"Because he was not sending the letters?" Marcurio offered.

"Mm," I voiced. "I don't know. Maybe."

A knock sounded at my open door. It was Bird. "There you are," he said, and then laughed as he walked into my bedroom. "I knew I would lose him to you eventually, Deb."

Marcurio gave his husband a playful smack on the thigh when Bird sat on the edge of the bed next to him. The look on Bird's face told me he knew the outcome of my visit with Stenvar, but all he said was, "It's nearly dinner time. I'll buy us a few bottles of that spiced wine you like, Deb. We can all get proper drunk."

"Not tonight, Bird," Marcurio said, urging me to stand with him and get out of bed. "We're off to Saarthal in the morning."

"Oh, right."

"Saarthal?" I asked as we made for the dining hall. Despite being a bit depressed I was starving, likely from my morning's exertion.

"It's an ancient remains studyplaceat a ruin. Tolfdir's going to take a group of us tomorrow for the day, like an educational trip."

 _A field trip!_  I nearly laughed in amusement. "What is an ancient remains study place?" I asked.

"Ehh," Marcurio had to think about it, "it's a place where people...," he stopped in his tracks to think harder, "dig, you know..." He hunched over and mimed the action of shoveling something, then continued walking.

"Wait." I tugged on Marcurio's sleeve to stop him. "An ancient remains study place? Like... where people lived long ago? With old things and maybe... bones?"

"Yes…," he said, as if my need for a confirmation was silly.

I stared at my friend for a moment until the biggest grin spread across my face.

* * *

"I still can't believe you did not tell me people do ancient remains studies in Skyrim." I poked Marcurio's side as we walked with a large group of mage students, led by Tolfdir, across a snow-laden landscape to a valley where the entrance to a lost settlement was discovered.

"And I told you I didn't know that is what you did in your world," Marcurio poked me back, harder.

I was jumping up and down, practically skipping as we marched through the shin-deep snow. I was ever-grateful that Birna's shop had fur boots in my size, otherwise I surely would have gotten frostbitten wearing just my leather boots. No one else had a fur hood attached to their cloak – they settled for their mage's hoods – but even with my bear-fur hood my face and ears were freezing.

"We shouldn't be going to a ruin," Onmund grumbled. "What if there is a  _k_ _oth_? My ancestors could be buried there."

"We're not planning to disturb the dead, Onmund," I heard Tolfdir call back.

"You didn't have to come, you know," Brelyna said to the young Nord.

I couldn't understand what Onmund grumbled in response to Brelyna.

Ahead of the crowd of ten mage students, Tolfdir stopped short and caused me to bump into the back of Onmund.

"Sorry," I said to him. The glower I received when Onmund turned around to stare me down was truly uncalled for.

"They're your ancestors, too," he said, nearly spitting the words, "why aren't you more disturbed by this?"

"My...?" I forgot Onmund didn't know I wasn't from Skyrim. "I... I never said going to a ruin did not disturb me. I am just... I have done it before." It wasn't really a lie.

Onmund gave me a look of disgust, and moved away towards the front of the group.

We had stopped walking, and I thought I could hear Tolfdir grumbling about something that "wasn't right". Out of curiosity, I walked ahead and strained to see what the fuss was about. Tolfdir was staring down into a valley, likely the one that held the ruin called Saarthal, and I could see that the valley was a bit of a mess but nothing struck me as odd.

Tolfdir continued down into the valley, us students following. "Marcurio, Fa'nir...," Tolfdir called to my friend and a Khajiit man... cat-man... the only two full  _laerling_  among us, "wards up," he ordered.

 _Wards?_  Wards. Wards up. "Why wards?" I asked anyone in earshot.

"Just in case," answered Azijjan, the female Khajiit.

Despite having been at the college for almost six months, I rarely spent any time with the Khajiit students, or in fact most of the other students that weren't Marcurio, Brelyna, Elodie or Osana. This wasn't exactly by choice. The Khajiit students were fairly exclusive, and the other human and elf students had formed a sort of clique that my friends avoided for no reason in particular. I had a feeling those in the clique just didn't like me or Marcurio or Brelyna, but I didn't really know why. But, because of the lack of time spent with the Khajiit students, I still felt awkward around them. Even in my inner monologue I had a difficult time thinking about Fa'nir and J'zargo as "men" and Azijjan as a "woman". I felt bad about continuing to think of them as cat-people, but I wasn't sure I would ever shed this mentality, nor my unease around Argonians, for that matter.

Azijjan's words hung in the air.  _Just in case_. I couldn't see anything at the bottom of the valley that looked like it would attack us, so I was confused. "If there is possible danger, why are we going forward?" I asked no one in particular.

Brelyna turned to me with a frown adorning her face. "Training," she said, reaching a gloved hand toward mine and clasping onto my fingers.

"Training?" I looked down into the valley. Wooden boards were scattered across a space in front of an open iron door that led into the hillside. "I thought this was for the study of the ruin."

"It is," Brelyna continued, "but how would it look for mage students who wish to graduate to back away from the  _possibility_  of danger?"

She had a point. I recalled Wuunferth making a similar remark to me once.

We marched on down towards the valley floor. I hadn't been able to comprehend what I had been looking at, aside from the wooden boards and various bags and barrels scattered around, until I kicked something with my fur-booted foot.

I nearly tripped, but Brelyna caught me.

"Are you alright?" she asked me.

"Yes...," I replied before looking down at what I had tripped over. I was staring into the face of a pained expression. The pained expression of a freeze-dried mummy head. Just its head. "Brey!?" I called to my friend.

"Hm? Oh..." We clasped hands again, tightly. She was just as scared as I was, which was, somehow, a comfort.

"What... happened...?" I asked her.

"There are more," I heard Tolfdir say.

Indeed, there were more. What I had previously thought were logs or branches were actually parts of ice mummies. Arms, legs, a couple severed hands, and their bodies. I counted seven. Some of them even had hair, or beards. All of them were decapitated.

"It looks like they were... cut down, like with swords," Onmund concluded. He crouched down to examine the cringing face of a mummy.

"Wait," I had certainly heard Onmund incorrectly. "Cut down? Why would someone cut a dead person?" I was afraid of the answer, but these mummies were hardly as fresh as the undead woman in Windhelm.

"These weren't dead people," Onmund said, looking up to me with disdain, "these were  _draugren._ "

"What?" I asked.

"They were  _draugren_ ," he repeated.

I opened my mouth to ask again what he was saying, but decided against it.

I felt a tug at my sleeve and found Marcurio, urging me to walk with him away from the others. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, Brey caught my fall. Marc...," I lowered my voice to a whisper, "what are those things?  _Draugren_?"

He frowned. "They are... the dead that walk. They guard the  _kothen_ in places like this."

I then understood the reason for the dire look on my friend's face. I had told Marcurio and Bird one evening about the undead woman in Windhelm, and how much I hated and feared the undead. "They... they are in... there?" I looked to the ruin behind the open iron door at the base of the hill.

"They must have been, yes. Something led them out here, but they were beaten down."

"Alright, everyone," Tolfdir called out, "we need to see if Arniel and his students are alright."

I tugged at Marcurio's robe. "Elodie and Osana!" They had gone with Arniel to the ruin along with a student named Alerion. Marcurio couldn't hide his fear either.

It was quiet inside the ruin. Very quiet. I heard the occasional drip of liquid, like in a cave. I didn't like caves. Caves harbored outlaws and giant spiders and, apparently, the undead.

Tolfdir sent out balls of white light that hovered over the cavern. Magelight, it was called. The spell created something similar to the floating orbs of white-hot light that emitted energy and aided in the growth of plants even in the absence of sunlight. The energy used to create fire was directly related to creating Magelight and the energy orbs, but only Savos could create the latter, and they lasted for days instead of minutes.

Taking my first step into what was apparently an excavation site took more effort than it should have. I took one look at the wooden scaffolding and my heart stopped. I leaned into Marcurio for moral and physical support. He knew how I had apparently died in my world, and I wondered if he remembered about the scaffolding. I heard a small whimper come out of my mouth, and Brelyna came to my other side and took hold of my hand. She knew my story, too.

Tolfdir talked quietly as we descended into what looked like a once-great hall. My visible discomfort resulted in me receiving some odd looks from the Khajiit and other students that I never interacted with. I began to wonder if they thought me a cowardly child, or half-wit, even. I didn't care. I should never have come along on this field trip. The last thing I needed was confirmation that the walking dead did indeed exist in Skyrim, other than the creations of necromancers and spells I'd learned about. The last thing I needed was to  _see_  that the walking dead existed, even if they were  _dead_  walking dead. Of our group of mages, Onmund and I were the only ones carrying swords, and Onmund was likely the only one who could use it. This was not a comforting thought.

I could see from above that there were more bodies of the undead mummies, also missing heads and other parts. My only comfort at that moment was the fact that nothing, other than those in our group, was moving. Further and further we walked through stone corridors and down stone walkways that took us deeper inside the earth.

"Did ancient Nords truly live so deep underground?" I whispered to Brelyna, figuring as an elf she would be older and therefore maybe know more about the world's history.

"Yes," she confirmed, "many did."

"But why? Was the outside not safe?"

"They worshiped the earth, and animals," Marcurio offered. "This was a temple, not a home."

"The dragon priests lived in the temple," Brelyna added.

"Dragon priests?" I asked Brelyna.

Dragon priests. Apparently, in the ancient times, when ruins like this were actively in use and Nords still worshiped the earth and animal spirits, dragons were seen as living ties to Akatosh and therefore worshiped as gods. The dragon priests were the leaders of the dragon's cults and received eternal life for their service. Nords in Skyrim became enslaved, but then revolted, and many died until some dragons actually helped the Nords learn the words of the dragons. This was the shouting that Stenvar had mentioned. In the end, the Nords killed or drove out all the dragons and freed themselves. Saarthal, where we currently were, was destroyed by elves around this time, and a hero named Ysgramor eventually avenged his people and drove the elves out of Skyrim.

"And then elves came back again, during the Great War," I mused.

"Not  _elves,_ Altmer in the Dominion," Brelyna corrected me.

"Sorry," I said. A few moments later, I added, "So much war. I know why wars are fought, but, at the same time, I never truly understand. There is always one group that thinks they deserve land, or gold, or that the gods made them better. In my world, this only started, we think, when metal was first used, and farming began."

"In your world?" Onmund turned around and asked, an eyebrow raised. I had been practically whispering to Brelyna and Marcurio; the only Nord in the group either had excellent hearing or everyone else heard what I said as well.

Brelyna grasped my forearm and frantically shook her head. Don't respond to Onmund. Got it.

"Hmm...," Tolfdir said as we stopped, "I detect no life, other than us." The old mage spoke quietly. I feared, as he must have, what his magic told him.

"I want to learn this life detect spell," I whispered to Marcurio.

"We will look further," Fa'nir said as he moved forward. I watched as his tail hypnotically swayed from side to side.

Further we went, and eventually we found Arniel and two of his students in what looked to be a study area, full of books, journals, lanterns and digging equipment. Marcurio and Brelyna and I were crushing one another's hands as we held on for dear life. Arniel, Alerion, and Osana were lying, dead, in pools of their own dried blood. Arniel had been cut down by a sword. Alerion's torso was missing a section from the middle, as if a bazooka had hollowed him out. Osana's robes had been burnt, as was a portion of her body. A blade had been slid across her throat. I searched the area, but there was no sign of Osana's wife.

"Elodie!?" I cried out. My voice echoed into the depths of the cavern.

"Quiet!" a man named Patrice snipped at me.

When the echoing stopped, I heard a distant murmuring.

"Do you hear that?" Brelyna asked me.

"Yes. It came from that way," I said, pointing toward a small, sharp archway with rubble scattered around it.

The murmuring grew louder.

"Everyone wait here!" Tolfdir commanded. "Fa'nir and I will go on ahead."

Fa'nir and Tolfdir cast their wards and passed under the archway, sending bursts of Magelight ahead of them to light their way. Not long after, we heard Tolfdir shout, "She's here!"

The lot of us ran after the others.

Elodie was found in a small, circular room with an altar in the center. She was crumpled on her side, cradling herself, uttering soft cries and murmurs. There was blood on her robe and around her on the stone floor, as well as on the altar. Behind the altar was an open doorway.

"Elodie my dear," Tolfdir knelt down to her, "are you hurt?"

The woman gave no response.

"Elodie?" Tolfdir repeated.

We were all circled around her, waiting, watching, straining to decipher the murmuring that came out of Elodie's mouth. I couldn't stand the suspense any longer. "What does she say, Tolfdir?" I asked.

The old mage leaned forward, nearly touching his ear to the woman's mouth, and listened. "Find it. Find it." Tolfdir assumingly repeated what he heard. "The  _Psijic_  Order is watching. Find it. Find it. The  _Psijic_  Order is watching."

I felt Brelyna's gloved hand grasp mine.


	38. Disorder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I lied about the number of chapters this story will have. It's looking to be around 50. I don't want to rush all of the craziness that will be happening from now on.
> 
> That said… thanks as always for reading. I hope you enjoy the angsty goodness that will be the rest of this book.

"Elodie?" I knelt down beside Tolfdir and cradled the woman's face between my hands. She was yet unresponsive, continuing to murmur the same phrase over and over again under her breath. Her eyes were open, and remained her brilliant green color, but they were glassy and unfocused. Instinctively, I let out my healing magic glow between my hands, hoping that what Colette did for me to bring me out of a trance would do the same for Elodie.

"Find it. Find it," Elodie continued to murmur. "The  _Psijic_ Order is watching."

"What good will healing do for her?" Fa'nir asked me.

"It worked for me, once," was my only explanation. My answer seemed to be good enough for him and everyone else, and one of the women who studied with Colette, Lienne, joined me in attempting to heal Elodie awake. I turned to Tolfdir who remained at my side, seemingly studying Elodie. "Tolfdir, what does she mean? What is a 'sihjik' order?"

"The  _Psijic_  Order is an ancient group of  _roniren_. They are  _galdren_  that practice the Old Ways. Traditionally of the Altmer race."

I looked to my left at Marcurio, giving him my "I don't understand those words" face. He picked up my cue with masterful cunning. "So these  _priests_ ," my friend stressed the word, indicating the synonym for one of the mystery terms Tolfdir had said, "they practice a sort of… earth magic… pray to their ancestors, to the spirit world?" I wondered if all of that was an explanation for what Tolfdir had said.

"Yes, precisely, Marcurio," the old mage confirmed. "Quite different from the religions we are familiar with today. The  _Psijic_  Order is secretive,  _motma_. As far as I know, they have not been active for decades, a century or more."

"Then they have returned, or made themselves known for a reason," Azijjan spoke; her voice was quite sultry, I noticed. "Why now, why here? Have they attacked the young half-elf?"

"No, I don't think they would have attacked Elodie," Tolfdir replied. "They are not known to be violent. And, look, her robe was torn and bloodied, and yet her body was healed. I believe they saved her life. I don't know if her being half-Altmer had anything to do with it."

"Then we will have to wait for her to wake up," Brelyna concluded.

While Lienne and I continued to heal Elodie and Marcurio stood guard over us, the rest of our group headed further into the cavern, which looked to be in the same state as the areas we'd already walked through.

"I have to stop," I admitted to myself and to Lienne after maybe twenty minutes passed. I sat back on my heels and watched as Lienne, a healing magic student, continued.

"Here, drink," Marcurio nudged my shoulder with a canteen. I accepted the offer eagerly.

Moments later, Elodie's body jerked awake, and she immediately pushed herself up from the ground, leaning on her hands. Lienne's healing light faded, and we watched Elodie cautiously, worried what her actions might be. She blinked several times at me, then up at Marcurio, to her side at Lienne, then back at me.

"Where is he?" she asked.

We stared at Elodie in silence for a moment. "Who?" I finally asked.

"Nerien! He was showing me…." Elodie stood abruptly and looked around the room. She then put her hands to her robe and felt the torn fabric, appearing to have recalled whatever attack that had taken place. She checked her body for wounds that had long since healed. Eyes wide, she looked up at Marcurio. "He healed me, after…." Her body froze as it stood, hands clasping the torn flaps of her robe. Without another word she darted past Marcurio, back the way we had come, to where the dead bodies of undead mummies and our friends lay.

The shrill wail that soon followed ripped my heart to shreds.

* * *

We waited with Elodie in the small room with the altar until the rest of our group returned. The woman did nothing but sob the entire time, not allowing anyone to console her, and so we just let her be. She then grew quiet, and remained so on the slow march back to Winterhold. Tolfdir promised that he would send teams to the site to assist in the retrieval of our fallen friends, to which Elodie still had no response.

The group that had gone ahead with Tolfdir related what they had seen further on into the ruin. The entire place was much like what we had seen outside the altar room: wrecked, with cut-up undead mummies. At the end of the maze-like system of corridors, they had arrived at a spacious cavern that resembled a temple. Surrounded by four pillars was a round platform and extinguished candles. Splayed across the round platform and Impaled by a broken staff was the body of a  _draugr_  warrior, whose head had been balanced on the other end of the staff.

"Lovely," I heard Marcurio remark.

"Who would attack  _draugren_ without purpose?" asked Lienne. "And then do that to its body. It's—"

"Disrespectful," Onmund blurted.

"And curious," Tolfdir added. "There must have been something in that room. I wonder if it was what the Snow Elves were after during the Night of Tears."

"Night of Tears?" I asked.

"Yes, when Saarthal was attacked and destroyed by elves," Tolfdir reminded me.

"What would be so important to kill for?" Fa'nir asked.

"Power," I heard Elodie mutter.

"What, Elodie?" Tolfdir asked.

The woman's gold-pink face drained of color and she spoke no more for the rest of the walk back to Winterhold.

The funeral for the three fallen mages took place on a snow-covered expanse of land east of the college grounds. Wood had been gathered and stacked to form three tall funeral pyres. Cremation was necessary in this area of the world – the ground was permanently frozen at a certain level, and only a shallow grave would have been possible to dig.

I had only then learned that Alerion was actually Arniel's nephew. Word was sent to Alerion's mother, Arniel's sister, in Dawnstar, and the morning the woman arrived, the funeral ceremony began. Osana, an orphan, only had Elodie.

The blonde half-elf woman refused to leave her wife's side until Savos was ready to light the pyres. Marcurio and Brelyna had to nearly drag her away, and were forced to confine Elodie in their arms to prevent her from throwing herself onto the pyre again.

Faralda and an Altmer woman I rarely spoke to, Nirya, began singing a dirge in a language I could not understand. The words seemed to soothe Elodie, though, and as we watched Savos light the pyres with his own fire magic, Elodie finally quieted.

My own thoughts turned immediately to Siv. My barbarian friend had died trying to save me, after defending the lives of women and children. Though Siv was indeed partly responsible for the deaths of the innocent men that died that day, and likely countless more before then, I had long ago decided not to judge her or Thrynn on choosing to be, if indeed it was a choice for them, part of a band of outlaws that killed and robbed and raped. The day that Thrynn saved my life, Siv gave hers trying to do the same. As far as I knew, she had remained unburied, her belongings possibly looted, and her body left for carrion on the side of the dirt road where she died. One of the first friends I'd made in this world never had a funeral, and I never got to say goodbye. This particular regret had not haunted me since my days with Thrynn in the cabin, and I felt myself go numb.

* * *

Later that evening, Marcurio, Brelyna and I made sure Elodie ate something, and put her to bed. While the three of us sat, huddled together on Marcurio's bed, they explained to me a major problem with Osana's death.

"Of course it is sad," I said. "They loved each other."

Brelyna frowned, and continued her explanation. "Deb, Altmer can spend hundreds of years searching for their soul-mate. Though Elodie may not be fully Altmer, she likely experiences some of those emotions. Altmer marry only after careful consideration. Elodie may never marry again."

A red flag suddenly sprung up in my mind. "Is there any danger of Elodie… taking her own life?"

Marcurio's brow furrowed and he cast a spell, looking toward Elodie's bedroom. "She still lives," he announced. I saw nothing, but I knew he had cast the life-detect spell.

I really needed to learn that spell. "Should someone stay at least this night with her?" I asked.

"I will stay with her," Brelyna volunteered, standing. "At least watch over her, to make sure…. You are right, Deb, there may be some danger in losing her over this. It is a great sadness…." With that, Brelyna left Marcurio's bedroom.

As Marcurio and I cuddled and drank wine, I pondered aloud what had happened at Saarthal, and what could have been there that Elodie thought was a powerful thing worth killing for, and why she was quiet on the matter now.

"She's in shock, Deb," Marcurio said.

"Yes, but whatever was taken was important. You heard what Tolfdir said. What if soldiers killed our friends to get something powerful? Why does Elodie not say anything to Savos?"

"I think if Elodie knew who attacked them, she would have said so."

I couldn't really argue with his logic. I felt Marcurio's body stiffen as he became unsettled. "Do you worry for Bird?" I asked my friend as I reached for his hand.

"Yes, every day." His fingers entwined with mine. "The war in this country usually stays out of Winterhold, and out of Eastmarch, but…," his arm muscles tensed, "what if it  _was_ soldiers that attacked Saarthal?"

There was only one answer that I thought might comfort my friend. "Like you said: if Elodie knew who attacked them, she would say so."

Marcurio would have to wait another week or so to find out if Bird was alright.

* * *

The next morning, I received a small leather pouch from the in-house courier. It contained an iron key and a note from Stenvar.

_In case you need to get away from the College. By the way, didn't you say your birthday was in the spring? Thirty, right? Hope you do something nice for yourself. -Stenvar_

"He gave you a key?" Marcurio asked.

"To his house here," I confirmed.

"What does the note say?" Brelyna asked, smirking and picking it up from the dining table. Her eyes shifted up to give mine an accusatory stare. "You had a birthday? When?"

"Sometime in Rain's Hand," I replied.

"You mean some time  _now_ ," she corrected. "What day?"

I frowned. "I don't know. I don't know if the days are the same. I never saw a… thing that marks the days in Skyrim."

"A day book?" Marcurio offered.

"Ehh, I suppose," I shrugged.

Marcurio sighed and gave his head a playful shake. "After practice tonight, we'll find out. I know Mirabelle keeps a day book; you can ask to see it.  _I_ want to know when your birthday is," he said with a smile.

Our moderate amusement came to an end when we saw Elodie emerge from seclusion and sit down, alone, to eat some porridge.

"At least she's eating," Marcurio noted.

"Did she sleep, Brey?" I asked.

"Yes, some," my dark-elf friend said, pushing around her own porridge with her spoon. "She mostly cried."

"Yes, I can see that." Elodie's eyes were bloodshot, her face puffy, and her golden hair a rat's nest. I felt odd, inappropriate and a bit self-loathing that even then I found her beautiful. I caught myself imagining kissing her tears away, and I yelled at myself internally to quit it.

No matter how much we were curious to know what happened at Saarthal, Elodie never said another word about it, at least not to us. If she talked to Savos about the incident, the Arch-Made was keeping quiet as well. Collectively, we had to move on, and not press the matter with the young, mourning half-elf.

That evening, Marcurio, Brelyna and I approached Mirabelle and asked to see her day book.

"This is amazing," I said to my friends and instructor, "the months here have the same number of days as in my world." I flipped the pages back to Rain's Hand, the equivalent of April. "Day twenty-eight of Rain's Hand," I announced. "This is my birthday."

"That was four days ago," Marcurio noted.

"Come on," Brelyna said, grasping my hand, "we may be in mourning for our friends, but a few birthday drinks will do us good, hmm?"

"Don't drink  _too_ much," Mirabelle warned, implying I wouldn't want to be hung over for our sessions the next day.

Our celebrations, spent in Marcurio's room, ended up being interrupted by screams and a door slamming open. We rushed out of Marcurio's room to see a frantic Elodie, cowering against the edge of the enchanted water pool, as if terrified from something in her room. We all ran over to her.

"Elodie? What happened?" I asked, trying to get a hold of her trembling body and arms.

"She's  _folokig_  me!" she cried.

I looked up at Marcurio. "What?"

"A ghost," he answered, then crouched down next to me. "You saw Osana's ghost, Elodie?"

Her sobs made answering difficult, but she managed to speak through them. "Nnno! I... heard her. I heard breathing and… steps.  _Gods!_..."

Brelyna ran into Elodie's room. A few moments later, she called, "There is nothing." She walked back over to us.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"A spell to detect the dead. Or, the undead," she answered. I recalled that Wuunferth knew a similar spell.

"It's gone now, Elodie," Marcurio said, putting an arm around the shaking woman. "Come on, let's get you back to bed." He urged Elodie to stand and led her back to her room, returning a moment later.

"I don't think it is Osana," I said. "Remember the wine, Marc?"

"Hmm, yes," Marcurio answered, stroking his tiny, trimmed soul-patch. "Whatever it was, it's been around for some time, now."

"Do you always cast a spell to see the dead when these things happen?" I asked.

"No, not always," he said. "I don't know that spell, but Brey does and she's never found anything."

"What about the life-detect spell you know?" I asked.

"Why would I cast that spell?"

"To see if it is someone alive," I answered matter-of-factly.

"But why would it be someone alive?" he asked, confused at my suggestion.

"Why would it not be?" I countered. "There is an invisibility spell, yes?"

Marcurio raised an eyebrow, and without further warning he cast a spell that I could not see the effect of. I was told that by casting the life-detect spell, the caster saw purple auras given off by anything alive, even insects. The auras could be seen through walls of stone, up to a certain distance. His hand ceased glowing blue-purple as the spell ended. He put his hands on his hips and said, "I will do this next time…."

* * *

As a birthday gift, Marcurio taught me how to cast his life-detect spell. It was easy enough to learn, particularly by first uttering an incantation that was basically a command to reveal life forms to the caster. The spell to detect the dead was just as simple, but more difficult to master. Brelyna was a patient teacher.

I cast the life-detect spell with delight at meals, in the halls at night, and walking around the college grounds. I began to become familiar with each person's purple silhouette. Savos Aren's aura glowed brighter than anyone else's, interestingly. The Khajiit students naturally had purple tails trailing behind their auras. The Altmer, who stood taller than the rest of us, had taller auras, and the likes of Colette and Mirabelle had the shortest auras. The disturbing reality of being able to cast this spell was not knowing whose aura was whose, but being able to tell what people were doing behind closed doors. There were just some things one did not need to know about their friends, colleagues or instructors, such as the secret sexual relationship happening between the three Khajiit students, the life growing inside Lienne's belly as indicated by a super-bright and dense purple glow in her mid-section, and the apparent affair happening between Savos and Mirabelle. Naturally, I kept my mouth shut about everything I discovered, but I wondered if Marcurio – or anyone else who knew this spell – was also aware of everyone else's private business. When Bird finally came back to Winterhold and from then on, I refrained from casting the spell in the student's hall.

* * *

"Three…. Two…. One!" Brelyna cast a sphere of water at Marcurio. The sphere splashed against his ward, creating a puddle in front of him.

"Bigger!" I giggled.

The visiting Bird and a group of us students, including myself, Marcurio, Brelyna, Onmund, a somewhat-reluctant Elodie, and to my surprise the three Khajiit students had gathered on a peculiarly warm early summer day on the roof of the college to drink in the sun's rare rays as well as vast amounts of wine. Onmund was extraordinarily drunk early on in the day, which actually transformed him into a pleasant human being.

The lot of us had stripped down to our underwear when the water fights began.

The sphere that Brelyna was growing between her palms grew to the size of a basketball before it became too unsteady to control and without warning she cast it at Marcurio, who had been mid-swig from a wine bottle. The water soaked Marcurio head to toe, knocked the bottle from his hand, and wet both myself and Bird as well.

"I will get you!" I shouted at my friend, beginning a chase around the expansive rooftop. Neither of us could run in a straight line, and we ended up wavering between people and the turrets that dotted the roof.

One trick I had learned from Brelyna was to transform a simple frost spell, which could be cast to freeze a target, into forming none else than a snowball. Normally, a fair amount of snow would build up on the rooftop as well as the rest of Winterhold, but the temperatures had risen above freezing for last few days, and I was forced to make my own snowball. Brelyna had taken refuge behind J'zargo, and used him as a cat-human shield. I waited for Brelyna to make a mistake, any mistake, and until she did I would contain my magical snowball in my palm. When she backed away from J'zargo I saw my chance, and let my snowball fly. Before the condensed ball of frost magic could strike my friend, she cast Stoneflesh, illuminating her body in a shimmer of turquoise. The snowball smacked her square in the face, but she didn't even blink. The condensed frost ended up in a sad pile at her feet.

"Thasss cheating!" I whined.

"Is not," Brelyna grinned, and ran away again.

"But I dnnnno Stone Skin!" I cried.

"Stonnnefleshhhh," Azijjan corrected me. She too was drunk, and grinning happily. I was sober enough to refrain from commenting, but I knew why the cat-woman was so happy – she was getting intimate attentions from both J'zargo  _and_  Fa'nir, always at the same time, whereas I was only getting it from myself while wishing that I could be kissing Elodie's pretty, pouting face.

I had lost Brelyna in the crowd, and spotted the beautiful, sad half-elf. Elodie was getting blissfully sloshed as the day went on; every time I looked at her, she appeared more and more happy. Elodie had actually begun to hold conversations again, something she had not done in weeks.

Slightly more able to hold his alcohol, Bird had remained relatively sober, and began singing songs at the request of Marcurio. I was too drunk to understand half of the lyrics, but the songs were pleasant enough and I smiled as people began to dance. Marcurio dragged Elodie to her feet, Azijjan and J'zargo and Fa'nir danced in a threesome, and I expected Brelyna to come find me at any moment, but I couldn't find her. Instead, it was a very, very drunk but very jolly Onmund who asked me to dance. Or at least that is what I thought I heard. It was his hand reaching out to me that helped to interpret his slurred Norren.

Drunk Onmund could not dance. What he could do, however, was cling to me like a barnacle, and bury his face in my hair which hung in long waves after I'd removed it from its leather thong confine.

"Yyyyy smull noice," Onmund muttered. I pretended not to understand or hear him. I instead focused my attention on Bird, who seemed to truly enjoy singing. The grins and winks Bird threw Marcurio while his husband danced with Elodie were disgustingly adorable.

"Evvveryone, look up!" Brelyna shouted. When we did, a sudden burst of light gave way to bits of frost, floating down to us like a gentle snowfall.

A maniacal giggle soon followed, and the next thing I knew, I was staring down at Onmund, despite him being a shade taller than me. I then realized I was standing on all fours. I then realized I was standing on all fours  _and_  staring  _down_ at Onmund. I opened my mouth to ask what the fuck had happened, but all that came out was a neigh.

"Brey! What'd you do!?" I heard Marcurio shout.

More maniacal giggling ensued. "I tessssted my new spell. But she's a horse!" I saw Brelyna fall to her knees in a fit of laughter.

I heard myself whinny and felt the hair of my tail swish against my rear-end. My tail. I was a horse. In a fit of rage I stomped my feet, but all that happened was my hind hooves clonked onto the stone rooftop.

"Turn 'errr back!" Marcurio tugged at Brelyna's hair to get her to stand.

After her laughter subsided, she finally said, "I dunno how! It 'as to wear afff!"

"Damn it, Brey!" Marcurio stomped over to Elodie, who stood pale-faced, staring at me.

I felt a hand graze my left torso, and had to turn my head only slightly to see Onmund smoothing his hands over my light brown horsey coat. I wanted to punch him, but my right front hoof just stomped on the stone.

"Can you fix it!?" Marcurio asked Elodie.

The half-elf-half-human goddess-of-a-woman slowly shook her head. "I'm sorry, Marc. I d'know those spells."

I wanted to groan, but my horsey body chuffed and snorted. This was  _not_ okay. Onmund was still grazing his hands over my body, getting dangerously close to touching my breasts – which on my horsey body was just the underside of my belly. Moments later, I felt a tingling sensation creep over my skin, and my vision went black. I opened my eyes to see several sets of knees. I was on all fours again, but the sight of my splayed human fingers told me I was myself again. I felt an odd sensation, then, like my breasts were hanging free, and only then did I realize my underwear had ripped and fallen to the stone beneath me. I was completely naked.

"Shit!" Marcurio and Bird said in unison.

"Gods damn," I heard someone, I thought Onmund, mutter.

I was dizzy and still drunk, and wasn't entirely sure what had happened until I was on my feet and wrapped up in someone's robe. "Wut thu ffffkkk happn'd?" I mumbled to the two men who were helping me stand.

"Brey turned you into a horse!" Bird said way too loudly for my aching head.

"Elodie," Marcurio turned to the wide-eyed woman. "Take Brey to 'er room. I think she needs smmm time t'… think 'r somethinggg."

"Should I tell Tolfduurr?" she asked. Tolfdir. He was the Alteration magic instructor, and Elodie and Brelyna were his students.

"Neh. Juss git her to bed, yeh?" Marcurio slurred his request before walking on with me and Bird down from the roof, down the series of spiral steps, and eventually into my bedroom.

"I'm sorry for that," Bird said, laying me onto my bed. "We'll find you some new underwear."

"Mmm nnd-wear. I've some…," I lazily pointed to the general direction of my wardrobe.

"Alright, good," Bird smiled.

"C'mon, Birdie. Lez go back. I wann' dance s'more." Marcurio, standing to the side of my bed, tugged at Bird's loincloth.

Bird shrugged Marcurio off and finished tucking my exposed body under my covers. I was too drunk to react to my eventual realization that Bird was not like Marcurio. Bird was attracted to women. I was a woman. A naked woman.

"Birrrrd, stahp starin' at 'er tits." Marcurio tugged at Bird's long blond hair. "C'mon. C'mon."

"Right, right," Bird laughed, wrangling Marcurio's hand within his own, practically wrestling with his husband. "Sleep it off if you want, Deb, or get dressed and come back up. We won't let Brelyna do that again."

The two left, Marcurio stumbling, both giggling. I wanted to go back to the party, but I decided I needed the rest when the room began to spin. I wondered if the sudden overdose of sunshine combined with wine had begun to take its toll. I fell asleep at some point.

When I woke up, I was starving, and still naked. During my nap I had kicked off my covers, but luckily my door was closed. I crawled over to my small cupboard and gathered a bunch of dried fruits and meat and munched away, washing them down with water. Satisfied, I lay back down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I wondered where Brelyna had learned such a spell, or if my dark-elf friend had experimented on me, which was expressly against the college rules.

A knock at my door ripped me into the present. I wrapped my body in a bedsheet and opened the door. It was Brelyna. I glowered at my friend. "You," I said.

"Me," she admitted, head hanging low and eyes downcast.

"A horse!?" I asked.

"It wasn't supposed to be a horse," she answered. She looked up at me, terrifying red eyes full of sorrow. "May I come in?"

I stood fast in my doorway. "Are you gonna turn me into a cow next?" My speech was better, but I knew I was still drunk. From Brelyna's awkward stumble while trying to stand up straight, it was apparent that she was, too.

"No, I jus' wanna talk." She pressed her lips together in a pout.

For whatever reason, I felt bad. " _Okayyyy_ ," I mistakenly muttered in English.

"What?" she asked, blinking once.

"N'vermind. Come in," I said, climbing back into my bed and shielding my body under my covers.

Brelyna closed the door behind her and stood before me. She had put on her college robe, but it was disheveled. For too long for comfort, Brelyna just stood there, looking down at me. Finally, she said, "I'm sorry."

"I know," I said.

"No. I'm  _really_  sorry," she stressed.

"I  _know,_ " I repeated.

"No," she said again, gaining my annoyance. I was about to respond when she sat down on my bed close to me, one arm bracing herself again my headboard. "I'm… sorry…."

The last thing I expected, after being turned into a horse, anyway, was for Brelyna to kiss me. Not just kiss me, but impose herself so fiercely onto me that I was pinned to my bed by her surprising strength. She tasted like wine and pistachio nuts, which I found odd considering the nut didn't exist in Skyrim.

"Mmm!" I said behind a lip-locked mouth. Her hands gripped the headboard, and her body pressed firmly against mine. She was too strong to push off of me. Either that, or I was more drunk than I thought. I moaned, either from exhaustion or excitement or frustration, but the sound I heard after that did not come from Brelyna or from me.

It was a sort of panting sound. A faint, rhythmic rustling noise provided the base for the accompanying breathy grunts.

Brelyna abruptly lifted her lips from mine and stared into my eyes. "Do y'ear that?" she asked.

Immediately, as if by instinct, I cast the life detection spell. "Oh gods!" I shouted, bursting out of my bed, not caring about my nudity. Again I acted instinctively, and cast a frost spell at the ground under the purple aura that hovered over a chair that faced my bed.

A cry of pain emerged from the now-fading purple aura. Piecemeal, a figure began to emerge into sight, pale flesh replacing the purple glow.

"ONMUND!?" Brelyna squealed.


	39. Playing with Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elements about Saarthal may have been altered from what you remember of the game. Not only am I not narrating game quests, I'm altering how one experiences certain aspects of the game, and what is encountered. That said, the "Saarthal quest" as experienced in the game does not exist in this world/story. Obviously, the Eye of Magnus was not there, so, already the entire experienced is altered. There will be no normal College of Winterhold quests in this story. At all. (A hint as to why this is the case was given in the last two chapters). If you're curious about what happened at Saarthal in THIS STORY as opposed to the game, you'll have to stay tuned for the second book!
> 
> Sorry if you don't like long chapters. I couldn't really find a good place to break this up.

"It's starting to thaw!" I yelled, pointing at Onmund's ice bonds. I then tucked my bedsheet around my body like a towel.

Brelyna cast a spell to re-freeze the ice that surrounded Onmund's ankles. I was getting a very basic lesson in Alteration magic, I realized.

"Brelyna, stop!" Onmund shouted, trying to lift his feet from the floor, but he remained planted where he was caught. "I'm numb!"

"I don't care! What're you doing in 'errrre!? We—we  _heard you_!" she said, wagging a finger at the man before lunging at him and slapping him around. I couldn't understand the words she began to screech.

"Deborah?" I heard J'zargo's voice outside my room. The door opened and a frightened, naked, aroused and captured Onmund stared wide-eyed up at the Khajiit man from my chair. J'zargo grabbed Brelyna and despite her thrashing was able to remove her from Onmund, saving him from further physical injury.

" _Ugh_ , gods," I groaned, sitting on the foot of my bed. "Please cover your….thing, Onmund!" I tossed a pillow that I decided to burn later, but finally Onmund's not-quite diminished erection was out of site.

"J'zargo will go find someone…," the Khajiit man drawled. He turned to Brelyna. "Try not to kill him for now, hmm?"

The drunk, terrified Onmund began to weep openly. I couldn't understand everything he said, but several words I caught were "sorry", "magic", and "you". By then, a small crowd had gathered, and I just knew that rumors would start streamlining their way through the college. I didn't care if people thought that Brelyna and I had been getting it on – if Onmund hadn't interrupted we very well might have – but I did care if people thought we had been getting it on with Onmund.

A few minutes later, J'zargo returned with Drevis Neloren, an older dark-elf man, and one of Onmund's instructors. The elf took one look at the young Nord and let out an exasperated sigh. He held out his right hand, cast a gentle flame in the direction of Onmund's ankles, and melted the ice bonds. He had to say Onmund's name three times before the Nord looked up at him. Drevis snapped his fingers and immediately Onmund stood, holding the pillow to his crotch. He followed his instructor out of my bedroom. J'zargo, being a decent person, shooed the crowd away from my doorway and left without a word, closing the door behind him.

Brelyna was still worked up, huffing and puffing and, I just then realized, still wearing nothing but her underwear. I wasn't sure what to do at that point. Onmund had been doing unappealing things to himself, watching me, naked, for who knows how long, and obviously liked it too much when Brelyna showed up. The woman was just as drunk as I was, possibly more, and she had kissed me. For weeks I had believed she moved past her attraction to me, one that she had never admitted to my face, but it was clear now that the attraction was still there.

I told myself that I had to say something, or do something, before she sat back down and resumed what she had tried to get started. I did nothing of the sort, however, and I watched as Brelyna paced back and forth in front of me, deep in thought.

"We are drunk," was all I said.

"Yes," she nodded, still pacing.

"Onmund wuz drunk. Verrry drunk."

"That is not an sssscuse!" she slurred.

"I know," I said. "What will we say to… them? Do we… ehh…."

"We tell them ev'rrr-thnnng!" she flailed her arms and sat down on my bed. "Ev'rrrything!" she held a single finger out to me as if making sure she had my attention. "He… he 'as been doinggg this for…  _too long_ … I  _know_  it was him. He  _touched_ me sometimes."

"He  _touched_  you?" I stared, horrified.

"After…  _ughhhhh_ … after we… kissed…."

"You  _kissed_ him!?"

"Yes." Brelyna hung her head. "Long ago. B'fore you came. S'was a missstake.  _Ughhh_ …." She hunched over and planted her face in her palms.

And then I realized something. "Thas why you… you told me not to speak to 'im? Cuz he gets… like that?"

"Yes," she nodded frantically.

"That night in the hot tub in th' inn… when you left all… quick…. I felt sumnnnn touch me on th' neck. I thought it wuz you…."

Brelyna shook her head. "I felt something too…. S'was  _him_ , I know it…. Now  _I know it_."

"He was… watching…." I suddenly felt like a million cameras were recording my life. I felt dirty, and exposed.

The pair of us sat in silence for a while, digesting the truth of the situation, of the "ghost" that had been haunting the college.

After maybe ten minutes, Brelyna said softly, staring at her toes, "You don't feel tha' way 'bout me, d'you…." It wasn't so much a question as a realization, or a request for confirmation.

"You turned me 'nto a horse," was all I said.

She whined. "Was s'poseda be... s'poseda be a spell to make you e'en more pretty."

I felt an invisible fist enter my gut and twist my insides. I didn't want to lie, but I didn't want to upset my friend any more than she already was. Unfortunately, alcohol turned me into a very, very honest person. I often lost my internal monologue filter, and never knew when to shut up.

"In my world therrrrr no dark-elves, Brey. No elves 't'all. Therrrr stories of… creatures tha' look like you some, but they're… not… nice. I can't. I can't see… other things. Fuck…." I knew I wasn't making any sense.

Brelyna was silent for a moment, and then said, "Yeah, I di'n't think so…." She stood and immediately left my bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

_Damn it._

* * *

 

"Onmund, son of Alvric of Rorikstead, you are standing here before the mage's council of Winterhold accused of the misuse of magic,  _stongig_ ,  _blottig_ , and causing general upset among your peers. You are also accused by Urag gro-Shub of damaging College property, namely irreplaceable books. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Savos Aren stared with flaring red eyes at the young Nord, his fingers folded on the counter where he, Mirabelle, and all of the instructors sat. J'zargo, Brelyna, Elodie and I were present at the council hearing as witnesses. I was partially distracted throughout the process. Despite two days having passed, I was unable to get the image of Onmund's angry purple mushroom cap out of my head.

Onmund kept his head low. His only answer to Savos was a slow shake of his head.

"Speak up, young man," Savos boomed.

"I'm sorry," Onmund muttered.

"So you admit to these actions?" the Arch-Mage asked.

Onmund gave a small nod.

"Care to explain  _why_  you did these things?" Savos continued.

Onmund shifted nervous in his chair, but then shook his head.

I could hear the Arch-Mage sigh. "Very well. Onmund, son of Alvric of Rorikstead," Savos cast his gaze down to a sheet of paper, "it is the decision of the mage's council of Winterhold to expel you from this College. You are to vacate the grounds immediately, leaving behind any and all robes and spellbooks, as well as your journal. We cannot force you to forget the spells you have learned, but we ask that you exercise extreme caution when using magic from this moment on. Be aware that the use of invisibility magic for purposes other than defense is considered illegal by the mage's council, and action will be taken should you be caught misusing the spell again. Urag?"

Savos called to the orc librarian who was apparently going to be Onmund's escort, likely because of his sheer size. The Hulk of a mage walked over to Onmund, grasped his upper arm, and walked him away from the front of the hall towards the exit. Before they passed us, Onmund stopped walking and stared daggers at Brelyna, Elodie and me, and possibly J'zargo, too.

"Come on, milk-drinker," Urag the Hulk tugged at Onmund, and they exited the hall.

Brelyna looked as if she wanted to cry.

The four of us left for the practice hall, deliberately avoiding Onmund as he was forced to clear out his room in the student's hall. Marcurio and Bird were in the practice hall, sorting through knapsacks. Marcurio looked up and gave a weak smile. "Well, how did it go?" he asked.

"As we thought," I answered, "he is forced to leave – forever, I think."

"Good," said Bird, "it's disgusting what he did. And he may have done the same countless more times."

"Maybe," I said. "Maybe he was the ghost the whole time."

"That's what I thought," Marcurio said. "I'm glad you caught him, Deb."

I frowned, and stared at the knapsacks at Marcurio and Bird's feet. "What are those for?"

"We're headed back to Saarthal," Tolfdir answered from the door to the practice hall.

Elodie, Brelyna and I blurted out a collective, "What!?"

* * *

 

After much convincing by Tolfdir, Elodie eventually agreed to return to Saarthal. Tolfdir wanted to recover the information that was gathered by Arniel before his murder, and investigate fully the location of what he thought contained something important. Bird, despite Marcurio's protests, joined us, claiming that he could help protect us with his short sword.

When we came to the narrow passageway that led to the small room where we had found Elodie, I noticed something odd about the rubble surrounding the pointed archway. "Tolfdir, there are markings on these stones." I picked up a chunk the size of my head. Swirls of engravings decorated one of the surfaces.

"Interesting," Tolfdir remarked as he studied the stone. "You know, I recall that this archway was sealed before. Either Arniel found a way through it, or whoever else was here did. Why don't you see if you can put this mess in order, see if the markings tell us anything. And someone can look through Arniel's journals to see if someone already recorded the engravings. Darius, why don't you help Deborah? The rest of you, stay close to me, we'll continue on to that final hall. Don't worry, we had the dead  _draugren_  buried." The team continued onwards.

Darius. I was beginning to think that people from Cyrodiil, Marcurio's people, all had Roman- or Italian-sounding names. I suddenly felt bad that I hadn't known the man's name before Tolfdir said it just then, and I admitted to myself that I had been clinging to my circle of friends too tightly. Darius was young, quiet, and very pretty. His slick brown hair was so dark it was nearly black, and his eyes were pale blue. His face appeared clean-shaven, but I wondered if he could even grow a beard yet.

"Good eye," I heard Darius say.

"What?"

"You have a good eye, for catching this."

"Oh." I shrugged. Some of the chunks had beveling, and I realized they formed not just a slab of stone with engravings, but perhaps served some physical purpose.

"I guess I'll go look through those journals over there," he said.

"Alright." I watched Darius walk not far from the rubble, just around a rock wall that separated this area from the rest of the cavern. As I glanced at the area where Darius was walking, I saw small openings dotting the floor of the wide archways that opened up the rock wall. "I wonder what those are," I thought aloud.

"What?" Darius called back to me.

"These small holes," I pointed to the ground. There were two archways in the rock wall, and the floor beneath both had four identical holes. I sorely wished for a flashlight, as even crouching down close to the holes I couldn't tell what they were. I was then on my hands and knees, looking up at an intrigued Darius. "Can you cast Magelight?" I asked him.

He stared, slack-jawed a moment before answering. "Ehh, yes." He cleared his throat. "Where would you like it?"

"Above this archway. I want to see inside these holes." The burst of bright light proved most helpful. "Yes, good, thank you. I see metal inside, but red. I think these are iron gates."

"Iron gates? But why?"

"I don't know. We will have to ask Tolfdir." I stood, brushing dust off of my robe. The Magelight was too bright to look at directly. "Can you move the Magelight over to the stone blocks?"

Darius answered by creating a new ball of Magelight in my desired location. Soon after, the previous light faded. "They only last several moments," he reminded me.

I bit my lip. "Can you teach me?"

"The spell?" he asked.

I nodded.

"I thought you knew every spell," Darius said. His expression was peculiar; he appeared shocked, or even betrayed.

I laughed. "No, no. Please, teach me?"

Darius was noticeably confused, but said, "Alright. The word I learned to call the light was ' _latta'_."

" _Latta_ ," I repeated. "What language is that?"

Darius shrugged. "Some elven one I guess." He held out his right hand, pointed to an area to my left, repeated the foreign word, and a ball of light formed and floated to that general area.

I copied Darius's actions, and a ball of light immediately appeared and floated some distance away from me.

"Easy," he said, and returned to examine the journals tucked away in an alcove.

" _Easy_ ," I muttered under my breath. Everything was considered easy. At least I was able to cast – no, summon? – Magelight on my first try. I cast a new light over the rubble and continued to play "refit the chunks of engraved stone". The chunks were all quite large, and I was finished, and very tired, in no time.

"I think it had a… shelf on it," I said loud enough for Darius to hear.

"A shelf?"

"Yes, a small one. But, look at it." I stood up and stepped away from the slab of stone. "It was not a door. Not at all. No handle. Look at the archway. Nowhere for the stone to go if pushed. Nowhere but in or out, or broken."

Darius inspected the area, and nodded his assent.

"But, look closer." I cast Magelight again over the slab, and kneeled next to it. "No sign of a hit."

"A hit?"

"A hit. There is no sign that someone hit it. It just… broke."

Darius stared the slab, and then at me.

"What?" I asked.

"You have a strange accent," he said.

I groaned, and ignored his comment. "If we can understand these markings, we might understand why this stone blocked the entrance. Why this was not a door, but… a shield, a block. And, why and how it broke."

Darius nodded. "To the journals, then?"

"To the journals," I confirmed.

We found no sketch of the door, but did find one curious note. "This says the door had a protective ward covering it," Darius said. "There was a necklace on that little shelf, there," he pointed to the indentation on the slab, "but they couldn't touch it. The ward shocked them every time they tried."

"The markings must be a spell," I concluded.

"Probably."

"Did they use magic to break the stone?  _Can_  magic break stone?" Mine couldn't.

"I don't know, but this journal entry is from just three days before… you know…."

"Oh. So it was still blocked…."

"Mmhmm," Darius nodded.

"Whoever killed them broke the stone."

"Mmhmm."

"So…," I said, standing, "we just need to know. What can break stone?"

Darius and I decided to head in the direction of the final hall. He had been there with Tolfdir last time, and he figured he could remember the way. "If I don't," he said, "I can just cast Clear-Seeing."

"Clear-Seeing?"

Darius gave me that same confused look. I was used to that look. He stopped walking, cast a spell, and a faint blue fog snaked out ahead of him.

"Oh, Clear-Seeing. I can do that. I always called it 'undead finder'."

Darius just stared at me, wide-eyed like a frightened deer.

I laughed. "It is a long story that I do not want to tell. Come on, young Darius."

As we walked on, occasionally pausing to check for directions, Darius began to ask me questions. "Where are you from?" was the first one.

"Far away," I answered truthfully.

"Where? High Rock?"

"No."

"Where?"

I sighed, and decided to lie. "Riverwood. I'm from Riverwood."

"Oh. That isn't very far. I'm from Riften. That's about as far."

"Ah."  _Please stop talking, kid._

" _Hupp_ ," Darius blurted, stopping in his tracks.

"'Hupp'?" Hupp. Hupp. I didn't know that word.

"I took a wrong turn, come on," he spun on his heels and we backtracked to a fork in the corridors. When we turned down the correct path, I heard a noise, and froze.

Darius realized I'd stopped walking, turned, and watched me for a moment. "What?" he finally asked.

" _Kfft_ ," I sounded for him to be quiet.

The noise, a rustling, like feather-light footsteps, grew louder. And then I heard a kind of creaking sound. With my back to Darius, I walked toward him, away from the noise, watching, praying that it was merely a rat, or better yet a frightened puppy that just wanted a hug. When my side brushed against Darius, I grabbed at his sleeve, dragging him with me, quietly, slowly. I then remembered the candle-lit lantern hooked on my belt, and removed it, placed it on the floor, then continued walking backwards. I then silently cast Magelight toward the fork in the corridor, hoping the light would not only illuminate whatever was coming toward us, but also make it more difficult for whatever it was to see us.

As a figure emerged from the edge of the rock wall, I froze, not believing my own eyes. I instinctively reached for Darius's hand, not caring that I barely knew the kid.

The figure that was now headed toward us was a skeleton. A walking skeleton with glowing eyes. Glowing eyes that had not yet locked in on us. The walking skeleton wielded a sword.

"Oh, gods," Darius whispered. It might as well have been a scream.

_Shit. Shit. You little shit! I'm going to fucking kill you._

I wanted to strangle the young man right then and there. Feed him to the walking skeleton. Save my own hide. Instead, I took a deep breath, dropped Darius's now sweaty hand, and formed a ball of lightning between my palms.

Immediately after doing this, I heard the skeleton snarl, but I could barely see in front of my own magic. I sent out a silent prayer, and shot forth the ball of lightning. My view of the corridor returned, and I watched as the skeleton exploded into one hundred and eighty-four individual bones and one skull. After the elements settled, the corridor grew silent once again, but also became pitch black.

Darius cast Magelight, and we were reassured that we were finally alone; I could hear no more walking dead coming. I picked up the jostled candle-lantern, pointed at the wick, and relit the candle. I then took tentative steps toward the fallen, enchanted skeleton and picked up a femur. "How did it walk?" I asked.

"I-I don't kn-know," Darius nearly whimpered as he walked up behind me, tugging on my robe as if clinging onto his own mother.

"It must be magic," I concluded. "No skeleton can walk without the soft parts that hold it together. But why? Who would want a skeleton to walk?"

"Necromancers," Darius whispered.

"Hmm, yes. Or do they protect this place?"

"Skeletons? Protect a ruin? Like  _draugren?_ "

I shrugged, and placed the femur back onto the ground. I walked over to where the sword had landed and picked it up. "This is a nice sword." I gripped the handle too-tightly, taking out my still-present fear on the metal. Darius appeared terrified, and I didn't want him to know I was, too. I still had my own short sword with me, so I handed Darius the newfound one. "Here, just in case."

The young man accepted the weapon with trepidation. "I don't know how to use a sword," he said.

I turned Darius around and urged him onward the way we were going, and decided to repeat what Stenvar had said to me the day he gave me a sword-fighting lesson. "The pointed end goes into the bad guy."

We arrived unscathed at the large hall where Tolfdir and the rest had been. The old mage was standing by a large table with piles of books; he looked surprised to see us.

"Deborah? Darius? What's wrong?" Tolfdir asked.

"Not wrong, Tolfdir," I said. "We came to tell you about the markings on the stone."

I related to Tolfdir that the stone slab had been marked with a spell that supposedly created a ward, protecting a necklace that was held on a shelf. Somehow, the door was broken, and the necklace was missing. I also told him about the iron gates.

"Gates? How very odd," the old mage scratched his head. "Something was definitely protected in here."

"Tolfdir, what can break stone without hitting it?" I asked. "What magic?"

"Magic? No, no, I don't know of any magic that can break stone. A frost  _atronach_  perhaps would have the strength…."

I shook my head. "No, Tolfdir, no strength. The stone was not hit. It just broke."

"Hmm. Magical energies, I suppose…." The old mage turned from me and walked away, mumbling to himself, perhaps contemplating the issue.

I followed Tolfdir, and Darius followed me. The young man then blurted, "We almost got killed by a skeleton!"

"A skeleton?" Tolfdir turned back to us.

"Yeah! With glowing eyes, and a sword!" Darius was a bit too excited, in my opinion. "Deborah exploded it, though."

Tolfdir looked to me for confirmation on the young man's story, and I gave a little nod. "How would a skeleton walk, Tolfdir? There were no… muscles, and things."

"Well, the same way  _draugren_  walk," Tolfdir explained. "Magic. Magic of a different sort than what we're learning, but magic nonetheless."

"Necromancy?" I asked.

"Yes, perhaps." Tolfdir turned back around and headed toward a pitted, round area surrounded by four pillars. "One reason we're here in Saarthal, studying it, is to try and find  _genvera_ magic from the ancient Nords that build the city. Like this, here." The old mage stared down at the round area.

It looked like it was made of thick, aqua-colored glass panels that were held together by very narrow irons strips, almost like a stained-glass suncatcher, lit by some light source underneath. Swirling runes or words were etched into the edges of every glass panel. The iron strips formed a design. In the very center was a large circle. Surrounding the inner circle were three overlapping, narrow crescents which, as a whole, formed a wider circle. Branching off from this wider circle were longer, squared iron strips, but the shape it formed was not a square. It was almost an optical illusion, and it took me a moment to see a third surrounding circle that doubled the width of the first two. This third circle was broken up by seemingly haphazardly-spaced triangle and pointed oval panels, but I soon realized what I thought had been haphazard designs were quite possibly an unending series of straight lines formed by the thin iron strips. They cut through the circles, forming large triangles that surrounded the outer circle. Around this third circle were eight points, four larger, four smaller, interchanging like a compass.

The longer I stared at the glass panels, the more I was certain that the design was vibrating. "Tolfdir, do you feel that?"

"Feel what?" he asked.

"The circle, I can feel it. Like…," I didn't know the words, so I commenced a low-frequency hum off my own. "Like that."

"I hear it," Elodie muttered from across the room. She was rubbing her temples.

"Interesting…. You know, no one knows what these markings mean," Tolfdir said. "For all we know, they are Aedric in origin."

I felt my brow crease. "You mean, the gods?"

Tolfdir nodded. "Yes, it is possible. It's a script very similar to Daedric, but this definitely isn't Daedric. But, I highly doubt gods would have ventured into this place. This circle…," he moved his hands in a wide arch, "must have been here before the city was built…. It must have been what the elves were after."

"No," I heard Elodie interrupt. She was still rubbing her head – rubbing away a headache, it would seem. " _This_  is not what anyone wanted," she said as she circled the glowing glass. "What was  _on_  it was desired."

Everyone was expectantly watching the pained half-elf.

"Well, what was on it?" Brelyna asked.

Elodie continued to circumambulate. She folded her arms across her chest and said, "Power."

"Power? What power?" asked Lienne. "You never said what you saw that day, Elodie. Why won't you tell us?"

A moment later, Elodie answered. "I don't know what it was."

I heard the room give a collective, echoing sigh.

Tolfdir then looked to the back of the room where there was an open door. "Well, let's go check on J'zargo and Patrice."

The room where the two men were working was breathtaking. The room itself was nothing more than a tall-ceilinged cavern, but carved into the cavern side was an immense, curved wall with what appeared to be words engraved into a flattened area. A demonic-looking head was carved above it, and surrounding it all was a series of swirling designs, inlayed with gold. The designs were the exact same markings that were on the door Darius and I had pieced back together. Above the curved wall was an opening that let in natural light, which allowed for some plant growth.

"Wow," was all I could manage to say.

"What have you found?" Tolfdir asked the two men.

"J'zargo has copied the writing," the Khajiit man said. He always talked of himself in the third person.

"My best guess is that the design above is a helmet," Patrice declared. "The gold markings are all ancient Nord. I believe they match almost exactly with what was found at similar ruins, looking at some of Arniel's books."

"Very good," Tolfdir said. "Now, if you two would join the rest of us, I'd like to try something with the glass in the previous room. Follow me, everyone." When our group surrounded the glowing glass area, Tolfdir asked us to join hands.

"Join hands, Tolfdir?" Marcurio asked. "What for?"

"To combine our magical energies, Marcurio," the old mage answered. "Now, please…." He lifted his own hands to his sides, waiting for Lienne standing to his left and Darius to his right to grasp them.

I noticed that Bird elected to stay out of the circle of mages, understandably.

I happened to have been standing with Azijjan to my right and Elodie to my left. Azijjan made no hesitation when she grasped my hand. The furry, cat-padded palm was a nuance to say the least, and I tried not to grimace from the shock. I turned to my left and watched Elodie as she stood with her hands to her sides, frowning.

"Come on, Elodie, I'm sure it will be fine," I said, wriggling my fingers at her. The woman forced a half-smile and acquiesced to both me and Patrice at her other side.

I scanned the circle of mages and a brief flashback to my flirtations with paganism as an undergraduate entered my mind. I nearly giggled, but gave a little cough instead.

Tolfdir cleared his throat. "Now, I would like you all to concentrate on the glass circle in front of you. What is it? Where did it come from? What did it and this room protect? Whatever it was, someone killed ancient Nords and eventually our friends for it. Perhaps by combining our power, Elodie might remember exactly what happened that day."

My left finger bones suddenly felt like they would snap. I squeezed back, gently, hoping to calm Elodie.

"Alright," Tolfdir continued, "close your eyes, and concentrate. Bird here will keep watch for us."

"Ehh, yep, sure thing…." Bird laughed nervously.

I sighed, and closed my eyes. I heard the humming from the glass stronger, then. I silently tried various methods that had worked for me in the past to get things to respond to me. The soul gems let me use their power to enchant items after I made them feel sorry for me. Fire, ice, lightning and healing magic came easier to my palms if I mentally persuaded the energy to help me in some way, such as needing a light to read by. I wondered if the obvious energy locked under this glass would respond similarly. I imagined a glowing ball of light emerging from the glass and saving the world from zombies and dragons. When I didn't hear any glass breaking, I figured that didn't happen, so I kept on imagining.

Gods. Gods and Daedra. Aedra and Daedra. Something powerful under a city. Something powerful someone would kill for. Who wants power? Evil people. Emperors. Necromancers. Meridia said something horrible would happen to Skyrim, something she saw in my world. War? Zombies? War was already happening in Skyrim, and war had already happened with the elves, the Dominion and Thalmor.  _Maybe dragons are going to eat everyone_ , I mused.

Power. Power didn't necessarily mean domination. Power could be knowledge. Knowledge. Hermaeus Mora wanted my mind, my knowledge. He collected knowledge. Neither Meridia nor Hermaeus Mora had entered my dreams since the night Meridia possessed me, and I wondered if I had been let off the hook, set free to be a normal-ish person in Skyrim.

Possession. Someone now possessed something powerful, which could be a weapon. Knowledge could be a weapon. What could have been here that would have given someone so much knowledge that they'd kill for it? If it was like this glass, it was so old that no one could identify the writing, and possibly infused with magical energy. Magic came from the gods. Was the missing powerful object made by the gods?

Books. Weapons. Knowledge. Power. Magic. "A god," I said aloud.  _Oops._

"What?" I heard several people ask. The link between mages wavered hand by hand, and we broke the circle.

I dropped my hands to my sides, and knew my face and ears were burning red. "Ehh, a god, maybe. Something powerful was here. Powerful weapon, powerful knowledge, powerful magic. This glass was maybe made by the gods. What if the thing that was protected here was a god? Or… something made by a god?"

"Well," Tolfdir said, stroking his tufted beard, "that certainly does m—"

"Ehh, everyone!" I heard Bird shout from across the room. "To the doors!"

I followed the direction to where his sword was pointing just in time to see soldiers fumbling into the hall, snarling, all decked in armor and wielding swords. They advanced quickly, without hesitation, and I heard a rasping, ethereal voice shout what sounded like, " _Deer voh lan_."

Another called out, " _Danik ah dove_." He was staring directly at me. I then realized these were not soldiers, but live version of the undead mummies.

My stomach was in my throat.

I heard a woman scream, followed by a dissonance of magical thrumming. I realized that I had instinctively cast my ward, as had others, and some had cast Stoneflesh.

"Wards and defenses, students!" Tolfdir shouted as the  _draugren_  advanced, quickly. "Fire!"

No, not fire. Instead I cast a series of chain lightning that bounced from  _draugr_ to  _draugr._ And it did nothing. Those that were on fire wailed, and I realized my folly. I immediately cast a fire rune, a spell I had only recently learned, on the log steps that led down to the inner hall from the raised entrance. Seconds later a  _draugr_  stepped on the rune and the log steps exploded, sending ignited splinters of wood in all directions. More  _draugr_  came, and I watched as Bird took one of their heads with his sword.

"Darius!" I called to the young mage. "Use your sword!"

Without waiting for him to acknowledge my suggestion, I gripped my own sword and readied myself for the inevitable confrontation with the walking dead. Heads. Heads. Smash in their heads. Cut them off. Pierce their brains. If it worked in every single zombie movie I'd seen, surely it would work with these monsters.

" _Danik ah dove_ ," a female  _draugr_  with shredded armor and sagging, fatless breasts snarled as she came at me with the same type of sword the enchanted skeleton had wielded.

I squealed and ducked out of the way. I dropped my ward to cast a fireball at the  _draugr_. This thankfully distracted it, and I swung at its sword-bearing arm. The sound my sword made as it cut through her leathery skin was unnerving, but I spared no time responding to my disgust. I stepped on the dropped sword, and plunged my own into the  _draugr_ 's face. Its body went limp immediately.

"Their heads!" I shouted. "Cut off their heads! Stab their faces!"

"Deb, behind you!" I heard a man call.

 _How many of these zombies are there_? I asked myself. Another  _draugr_  was advancing, but it held no weapon. Instead, its right hand was glowing. Seconds before an ice spear came bulleting towards me, my ward came up and effectively absorbed the ice magic.

" _Fucker!_ " I shouted in English before dropping my ward and setting the undead mage on fire. I ran to its left side and swung my light steel sword at its neck, but missed and nicked its iron helmet. "Fuck," I muttered. I sent another ball of fire at the  _draugr_  before I felt someone back into me.

I jumped and heard a gasp. It was Bird. We gave each other one quick glance before again pressing our backs together, just like how I'd seen it done in countless sword-and-sandal movies. I felt his body move as he swung his sword and hit the metal of another. I readied myself to fight off my own current opponent, who was still on fire. Apparently leathery, dry skin burnt easily.

"Hey, Bird?" I shouted over the din.

"Yeah?" he grunted in response, occasionally flattening his back against mine before moving his sword arm again.

"I'm shit at swords," I said, repeating Stenvar's words to me.

"Me…,"  _clang!_ , "too. Let's practice, hmm?"

I heard him growl as he lifted himself away from me, likely lunging at his opponent. I sent another fireball at my own, and finally heard the monster groan. Finding a sudden burst of bravery, I stomped forward and kicked its side, flattening it on its back. I used my weight to keep its arms on the ground before bending forward and sending my sword into its throat.

Left. Right. Down. The point of my sword severed its undead spinal cord and its head flopped to my right. I felt its arms go limp. Unsurprisingly, no blood exited the  _draugr_  when it was sliced open.

I looked up to see several more  _draugr_  hit the floor, all by the hand of Elodie. She wielded a glowing, purple-flaming, translucent sword that apparently weighed nothing, judging by how quickly she moved from  _draugr_ to  _draugr,_ taking one head after another. Her long blonde hair, tied back in a high ponytail, spun around with her as she claimed one final undead life. She remained in an attack position long after the ethereal sword vanished.

Aside from frantic panting and the hum of the glass circle, the room fell silent. I counted at least two dozen bodies of  _draugr_  lining the stone floor, some of them still on fire. Another body was amongst them. I stepped closer to the table where I saw the mage's robe. Fa'nir and Brelyna were standing by it. I looked down to see Lienne, run through with a sword. Half of her body was frosted with ice magic, but it slowly began to thaw. I knew she couldn't have been more than four months pregnant, so there was no point in checking to see if life remained inside of her, but I did so anyway. I cast the life-detection spell and saw myself surrounded by purple, but nothing shone from Lienne's belly. I then cast the dead-and-undead-detection spell, and saw nothing but white, indicating every undead thing around us was officially dead, as were Lienne and her baby.

We fashioned a makeshift stretcher out of old clothes and long pieces of wood found around the ruin. Fa'nir and Patrice, the largest men in the group, were able to carry the tiny Lienne without much effort.

As we made the slow, quiet, stunned march back to Winterhold, Brelyna stuck close by me, and Marcurio held onto Bird as if he'd float away at any moment. Elodie, ahead of me and Brelyna, walked by herself. At some point, Darius caught up with me and accidentally-on-purpose bumped his hand into mind, subsequently grasping for my fingers. I let the young man comfort himself, since Brelyna was doing the same with my other hand.

I heard Patrice comment that we should never return to Saarthal, or any other ruin, ever again. Tolfdir remained silent.

When we reached the Frozen Hearth Inn, Marcurio and Bird stopped and turned to me. "We're going to get drunk," Marcurio said. "Very, very drunk. Want to join?"

I blinked a few times at my friends before answering. "I need a bath, first."

Though my mage's robe still stunk of sweat and burning leathery flesh, I put it back on after washing my body and hair in one of the inn's tubs.

No one else besides me, Marcurio and Bird stayed at the inn. I thought I had seen a glimmer of interest in Darius's eyes, but Patrice, his friend, called him away from temptation. I wasn't sure if it was seen as impolite to get drunk after a peer had died, but I honestly didn't care. I had just been face-to-face with snarling, growling, magic- and sword-wielding, talking walking dead. I needed a fucking drink. Or fifty.

Bird and Marcurio were already well into their large mugs of ale when I emerged from the bathing room.

"Ale?" I asked. "I thought you only drank wine."

"No wine right now," Dagur the innkeeper said.

"Besides," Bird burped, prompting an annoyed look from Marcurio, "this is some new drink cooked up by that man over there. Quite good, actually." Bird pointed and smiled at an ugly middle-aged man sitting on a bench, facing us and the other patrons. He was sitting next to someone with a familiar face – Onmund. The young Nord sneered when he saw me, and then turned away.

"Man's name is Sam," Dagur said. "He sold me the recipe a while back, and this is the first batch." The innkeeper plopped a mugful onto the counter in front of me. "Women drink free tonight." The blond man winked at me and smiled briefly before turning away. His wife, a pretty redhead named Haran walked by; I thought I saw her eyes roll.

I picked up the mug and took a sip. "Hmm, I like it. I usually do not like ale."

"Dagur, some stew for us, please," Marcurio ordered.

Three hours later, we were all fabulously wasted, and I had long since forgotten about being in a room with twenty-some undead warriors; forgotten about the pregnant Lienne dying, Osana dying, Arniel and his nephew whose name I forgot dying; and forgotten about the stalking, obscene Onmund. What I did remember, however, came as a great annoyance to Bird.

"Bu' nnno, Birdie," I grabbed his bicep to prevent myself from falling over. "I thinggk I know ooo idizz. I mean, it 'asta be sumun in Windulm. It jus' 'asta be. 'Cuz yoo s'wayz come 'n the things come." I poked at his chest. Marcurio just laughed. He couldn't stop laughing, and he made me laugh. When I caught my breath, I said, "But I meeen utt, Brrrdie. Tellum me. Puleez?"

Bird shook his head so fast he made himself dizzy. " _Uhhh_ ," he groaned, resting his forehead in his free hand. "Nnnope, no, I just can't,  _ugh_ …." I'd never seen Bird so drunk before, though he was still not nearly as far gone as me and Marcurio.

"Bird!" I stomped my feet. "Tellum me! Iz makin' me crazy. Puleez?  _Gadz!_ " I play-punched his chest, whining and feigning to cry.

Bird took a huge breath and bellowed, "NOOOooo," then sipped his ale.

That's when I started to get violent. I wanted to smash Bird's face in with my fist, but my body didn't allow it. My muscles were limp, and I ended up falling into Bird's arms, splashing the three of us with the contents of all of our mugs.

"Gods dammnnn it, Deburrrah!" Marcurio shouted, then calmed down and gracefully sipped whatever was left in his mug, little finger extended, like he was holding a tea cup.

Still fuming, I decided it was a good idea to ram Bird in his chest with my head, like an angry bull. I heard ceramic shatter. We landed on the floor, me on top of the man, weakly battering him with my limp fists. Laughter surrounded us but I didn't care. I wanted Bird to pay for not telling me who was sending me love letters and gifts.

I heard Marcurio cackle behind us. Bird started laughing, too, and soon had my wrists in a vice grip in each of his hands. How the skinny man was so strong, I couldn't have guessed. "Lit go u'me," I cried.

Bird laughed. "No!" His big hands squeezed tighter around my wrists as I tried in vain to wriggle free.

"I'm g'n git you so hard," I shouted, "you stupid-face. Stupid hair. Stupid Legolas hair."

"What?" Bird laughed more.

"Stupid-face!" I shouted at my captor.

"Now, now, children," I heard a man's voice come up from my left. I looked up and saw the ugly man who had made this really, really, really potent ale.

"Waaat you want, stupid-face?" I asked him.

The man chuckled. "Apparently 'stupid-face' is the only insult a sweet young thing like yourself has to offer."

" _Ughhhnnff_ , I c'n show yoo insult…," I made to get up, but Bird retained his hold on me.

"Oh, calm down, Deborah," the man said. I'd forgotten his name. "I just came over to suggest that you and Bird kiss and make up. You are  _friends_  after all, are you not? It hurts me to see you two fight." The man took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, go on. Kiss. And then kiss Marcurio, too, to apologize for attacking his husband."

"I…," I stared up at the ugly man. "Fiiiiine," I groaned, turned to Bird, and planted a big wet one on his lips.

"Hey!" Marcurio shouted, but began laughing again.

I looked up at the ugly man again. "Better?" I asked him.

He shrugged. "Ask Bird."

I turned to Bird. "Better?"

Bird narrowed his blue eyes at me, considering. "No," he said before lunging up and kissing me back. I felt his hot tongue slide into my mouth, but I didn't pull back. He tasted like flowers and beer and the stew we ate for dinner.

Someone tugging at my robe pulled me away from Bird and was somehow able to hoist me to my feet. It was Marcurio. "Aaaalright, m' _el'aen_ , I thhhinggk iz time t' go bed, hmm?"

I let out a long sigh. "Ffffine. Lez go t' St'nvvurr's house. Iz like, two steps thataway," I pointed to the door of the inn.

"Sounds good t' me," said Bird as he hopped to his feet.

"Hower y' so… ehh… hop hop?" I asked, giggling.

"What?" Bird asked, seconds before bursting into laughter.

I shook my head. "N'ermind. Lez go. Big bed n' a fire in th'ouse."

"Fire in th'ouse. Fire in th'ouse," Bird chanted, hopping along as Marcurio and I stumbled our way to Stenvar's house.

"Ah, waiiit, Marc," I said, tugging at his robe as we stood in the snow-covered street. Despite having left my cloak inside the inn, I was feeling quite warm. "I'm s'poseda gif you a kiss. Th' man suz so."

"Oh yeah, you 'it my 'uzband!" Marcurio said before snorting from laughter. "N' then you kissed 'im!"

"C'mere, Marc-ee-Marc." I smashed my face onto his in a fumbling, sloppy kiss.


	40. The Mourning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, the title of this chapter does not have a typo!
> 
> NB: May be a few days to a week before I get the next chapter out. I know I've been pumping them out like crazy lately, but that's cuz I've been ignoring real life. Bad me.

" _Mmm, Elodie, let's do it in the rain. No, no pineapples, they tickle…. Whu…. What's…. Ralof, why are you riding a tractor, naked? Ohhh, I like raspberries too…. No, no Sam, bad dog… that's my cellphone…. Give it… drop…. Gonna make me late for class…. Where's the porta-pottie?_ "

I woke up with an incredible and painful urge to pee. I slid out of my bed and was instantly confused. Animal furs tickled my bare feet, but I didn't have any animal furs in my room at the college, aside from my fur clothing which I kept in my wardrobe. I wiped the sleep and astonishing drunkenness from my eyes and looked around. There wasn't much to see, just the bare-bones house that belonged to Stenvar; I then realized I had stayed there for the night. I wobbled over to his chamber pot, or rather chamber bucket that he kept by the door. I would have to convince him later to construct some semblance of a bathroom where he could keep his washbasin and piss bucket; perhaps a curtained-off area in the corner of the one-room house. I squatted over the bucket and groaned in pleasure as I steadily lost what felt like a metric ton of water weight. I remembered drinking ale with my friends, but I didn't remember drinking an entire keg. I also didn't remember getting kicked in the groin by a horse, but that's what the internal cramping I was experiencing felt like.

I looked across the house to the bed. In the dim light I saw the curve of a hip, a set of skinny shoulders, and a cascade of blonde hair. I felt panic sweep over me. With only two small windows, neither facing east and most of the natural light blocked by the mountains, I honestly couldn't tell if I was looking at Bird or Elodie, or some other blond creature. That is, until the figure turned onto its back.

"Bird?" I whispered. He was still sleeping. I cleaned myself with a fresh cloth, tossed it into an empty bucket, and wobbled back over to the bed. Groaning, I climbed back under the covers to bask in the glorious warmth of shared body heat. I was naked, and from what I could tell Bird was naked, too. I peered beyond the bed to the long-dead hearthfire and thought I made out the silhouettes of various pieces of clothing, hanging of the backs of chairs and some other piece of furniture. I tucked the sheet around my body and looked to my right at the sleeping Bird. Only then did I see Marcurio's darker, shorter, and also naked form.

Unwilling to admit to myself what may have happened last night, I lay back down and stared at the dust particles illuminated by a tiny ray of light from one of the windows _. Did I and my friends stir up all that dust?_  The pain in my lower abdomen still nagged in a vaguely steady rhythm, just like the day after Thrynn had given it to me a little too hard for comfort.

My eyes went wide and I squeaked out a tiny, " _Shit!_ " I pinned the sheet to my body with my arms and lay stiff as a log.  _Shit, shit, shit._ I felt Bird stir and watched him turn back onto his right side, facing away from me. The sheet pulled back and I received a too-generous view of his skinny backside. I whipped my head to face straight up again, prompting a bout of dizziness and a groan.

A few moments later, Bird stirred again, and I heard the sound of lips giving tiny kisses, and a man giving a light, happy, laughing moan.

I cleared my throat, loudly.

I felt the two men jump, clearly startled by the sudden realization of their surroundings. I continued to face the ceiling, not wishing to see more than I already had.

"D-Deb? Where… wait, where are we?" Bird asked groggily.

"Ehh, Stenvar's house," I answered, my voice shaking.

"Wh-." Bird cut himself off. I heard rustling. "Stenvar's…. You mean, this is his bed? Where you and he…?"

I sighed. "Yes, Bird."

" _Ugh_ , my head," Marcurio grumbled. " _Uff_ , I'm… I'm really sore, Bird. Did you….?"

"Ehhm, I think so," Bird answered. "I… me too,  _ugh_ …."

"Me three," I said.

"What?" Bird asked.

"I am sore," I answered. "Very sore. Very… very sore. And… what's the word… having drunk too much….?"

" _Bakraaa…,"_  Marcurio groaned. "Fuck, Bird. Did you even  _use_  oil? Ah, gods damn."

" _Uhhhhgggghhhh_ ," I groaned loudly, covering my face with my palms as if the action would block out reality.

I heard more rustling, and then felt a warm hand on my forearm. It was Bird's. "Deb, do you mean you are… sore… like…."

" _Ugh_ , yes, yes…," I groaned, hands still planted on my face.

Bird's hand left my arm. I moved to turn onto my side, facing away from my friends. As I turned, the tiniest toot sounded from my rear. I froze, knowing full well why I had just farted. It wasn't from anything I had ingested.

"Ehh, Deb…?" Bird started, but was interrupted by his own faint chuckle.

"Stoppp," I whined, "just…," I curled into myself, "shut up. Shut up!"

"I just think that…," Bird continued, "I think that we all… you know… with you, with each other."

"No, no," I protested, "you're… no. We're just… naked. That's all."

"Deb…," Bird put a hand on my shoulder.

"Deb, I think he's right," Marcurio said in a very quiet voice. He was not his usual snarky self. "We were… very drunk. Is your head pounding as much as mine?"

"Heh, pounding," Bird chuckled.

Bird jumped when Marcurio smacked him.

"Yes, pounding," I replied angrily. "Head, and my… my… whatever my woman part is called. Pounding. Someone has a big cock and wasn't very gentle with it."

A throat cleared. "That… would be me," I heard Bird say. "Sorry."

"I think I bled a little," Marcurio said. " _Uff_ , yep. Damn, Bird."

"Sorry," Bird said again.

"Please!" I raised my hands in frustration and then groaned as I sat upright, clenching the sheet to my chest and looking straight ahead. "Please just… stop… talking about…  _that_."

The room fell silent.

I was the first to speak again. "I can heal us."

" _Ugh_ , please do," Marcurio groaned.

"Did I really hurt you that badly?" Bird asked.

I glanced over at Marcurio in time to see him give Bird a pained "yes you fucking did" look.

"Alright, give me your hands," I said in the most nurturing tone I could muster. "I will try a group heal." I grasped my friends' hands, and with closed eyes spoke the word Wuunferth had taught me so long ago. " _Meirheiluun._ " Our hands, arms, shoulders and bodies became incased in a swirling yellow light. I was caressed by the intense pleasure of a full-body heal, followed immediately by feeling dizzy, nauseated and weak from healing three bodies at once. I teetered to my right but was caught by Bird, who helped me lay back down on the bed.

Bird and Marcurio lay back as well.

"Well, I feel better," Marcurio said in a quiet voice a short while later.

"Me too," said Bird. "Thanks, Deb."

I grumbled something that wasn't words in reply.

The silence sat heavy, and then, "I'm truly sorry I hurt you two," Bird said. More silence. "Even drunk, I'm usually more careful…."

"I know, Bird," Marcurio said. "I think that ale was just..."

"Mm," Bird grunted in understanding.

"So…," I began, "this really happened. We… we all fucked."

"I believe so, yes," Marcurio said with a hint of sadness.

"Do either of you remember anything?" I asked.

"No," the men both answered.

"Maybe that is for the best," Bird said. "I doubt three drunk people  _rasig_  around would have been… pleasant."

"Not pleasant!?" Marcurio's tone stung. "You  _had sex_  with Deborah and you're glad you don't remember it because we were drunk and  _anatha_?"

"Hey, we  _both_ had sex with Deb," Bird protested. "Probably."

"I would not have wanted to have sex with Deb," Marcurio countered. Then, turning to me, added, "Ehh, not that you're not pretty, I mean…."

"It's alright, Marc," I replied. "I know what you mean to say."

"But you're saying it's my fault because I am attracted to both women and men, hmm?" Bird's voice was rising to a volume I'd never heard from him before.

"I've seen how you look at women, Bird!" Marcurio stood from the bed, letting the bedsheet fall away. He then pointed a finger at me. "You  _miss_  that."

Being in the presence of a domestic situation was never fun. Being directly involved in one was something else altogether, bypassing awkward and landing right on petrifying. I thought that this was what it must have felt like to be an actual homewrecker, the other woman, so to speak.

"Of course I  _miss_ that," Bird said to my surprise and, apparently, Marcurio's, based on his reaction to Bird's words. "But I would never… never  _vilandaar_  have sex with someone else, Marc. And it's not as if you weren't involved…."

I shrank into the bedcovers, cocooning myself from my current reality and trying to avoid more glimpses of Marcurio's naked body. Before, we were quite comfortable being naked around one another, changing clothes and such. I doubted things would ever be the same between us.

Marcurio had gone silent. I listened as he walked around the house.

I thought about chiming in, trying to calm the imminent storm. I wasn't sure what to say, however, and ended up blurting, "Maybe it is my fault."  _It was possible_ , I convinced myself. I looked up from my linen cocoon, knees tucked under my chin and eyes peeking up at my friends who both had their gaze set on me. "I am the one attracted to men," I reasoned. "I never saw you two in that way, but… with all that ale, maybe…," I looked down at my hidden, wriggling toes, "maybe I wanted it. After what happened at Saarthal… I was scared. I felt… disgusting. All that death, undead…." I wrapped my arms around my legs. "I wanted to get drunk. We all did. But I also know how I am when I am drunk  _and_  scared…." I sighed. "I need… comfort."

Drunk and scared. That was pretty much how I was the first time I had sex with Stenvar. Scared of the finality of being stuck in a world that was not my own. Scared for my family that, I had thought at the time, would have been frantically searching for me. I wanted to be distracted, and comforted. Alcohol distracts, and prior to hangovers is a great comfort. Sex, on the other hand, did both of those things, with only a few minor complications, particularly in this world where sexually transmitted diseases apparently didn't exist.

"It's not anyone's fault," Marcurio admitted to both me and Bird. "It just happened. Too much ale, that's all."

The epiphany hit me as I thought of Stenvar. Infertile Stenvar. I stared wide-eyed at my friends, mid-thought, silently running through the previous weeks to try and figure out if I could have been ovulating last night. Last night, while two possibly very fertile men had at me. "Shit," I said.

"What?" Marcurio asked, finally sitting back down on the bed, but still making no attempt to hide his body.

"I… well, what if I… ehh…," I could feel myself blushing as I tried to lead my friends to the thought I was having.

"What, Deb?" Bird asked, turning fully to face me.

I lowered my knees but held the sheet over my chest, tightly. "I could have… last night…. What if I am pregnant?" I knew conception could be cancelled out if acted quickly, but I had no idea if such medication or potions existed in Skyrim.

"Oh," Bird said. He ran a hand through his silken hair. He was blushing. "I didn't think of that…."

"You have been with men too long," I said with a smirk.

Bird chuckled, but soon frowned at me. Marcurio, however, had a different reaction. His eyes were wide, but I couldn't tell what he was thinking. I had to know. "What, Marc?"

"Hmm?" he asked, temporarily stunned.

"What are you thinking right now?" I elaborated.

"I… I just…." His facial muscles contorted in a strange pattern. "Well, you know, Bird and I have been together for nearly ten years, now…."

I stared at my friend, not sure where he was going with the sentiment.

"Maybe," Marcurio continued, "maybe we… could…."

"Marc!" Bird hissed. I turned to him, confused at his reaction.

"What? She  _hefjat_ it. What if she  _is_  pregnant? It would be our fault, Bird. At least  _yours_."

"That doesn't mean it would be  _ours_ ," Bird stressed.

"Wait a moment!" I yelled. My friends stared at me. "Wait." One arm continued to hold the sheet to my chest and one pushed out to my friends, urging them to shut their mouths. "I am not pregnant… yet. Maybe I will be pregnant; maybe I will not be pregnant. But, tell me, is there… a tea or… potion to take if I… didn't want to be pregnant?"

More staring from my friends. I watched Marcurio's face go pale. "Yes, but-"

"Yes, there is," Bird interrupted. "I think Brelyna knows how to make it, but if not you can check with the alchemist at the College."

"Bird…," Marcurio pleaded.

"I think Brey made one for Mirabelle, once," Bird continued.

"Bird!" Marcurio raised his voice.

"What!?" Bird countered. "It's not a huge secret. And if Deborah doesn't want to be pregnant she doesn't have to be."

"I know," I interjected. "About Mirabelle and Savos. I… learned many things about people at the college while practicing the life detection spell. Like, Lienne was pregnant…."

"She was?" asked Bird.

"Yes," I nodded. "But I don't know the father."

"You  _skothas_  people, Deb?" Marcurio asked. "Like Onmund?"

"What!? No! No, I just… practiced the spell. I saw things. I stopped soon after…."

Silence.

"Deborah," Marcurio eventually continued, "I was going to say… that Bird and I have talked about adopting a child for years now."

"Marc…," Bird began to protest, but Marcurio held up his hand to silence his husband.

"If…  _if_  you will become pregnant from this… and if you are willing to be with child…," Marcurio slid across the bed closer to me and reached for my free hand, "if you are willing to be with child, then perhaps…," Marcurio looked to Bird, "perhaps we can be fathers to the child. True fathers." He looked back to me. "If you do not want the child…."

" _Marc!_ " Bird hissed again.

"If you do not want the child, we could adopt it. That is all I wanted to say. Just… think about this, before you… do anything." Marcurio had finished his speech and sat back on the edge of the bed, content. He gave a look to his husband before standing and heading for the robes that hung on the backs of chairs near the hearth. We had apparently washed them at some point during the night, as was evident by a puddle of sudsy water around a washbasin.

Bird turned to me, still frowning.

"What?" I asked him.

"You don't have to be with child, you know."

"I know…." I did know. I was not prepared, however, to be faced with a third option to accompany abortion or being a single mother. All of this suddenly weighed on my shoulders, and I may not have even been impregnated last night.

"Think of yourself, and of—" Bird cut himself off briefly, "think of… the letter writer. Or anyone else you might meet. You don't have to lose nine months of your life just because Marcurio wants a baby."

I laughed. "The letter writer…. Just because someone writers me letters does not mean I want to be with him or her."

Bird shrugged. "No, but, you might, once you find out who it is."

I raised an eyebrow and gave Bird a questioning look. "Are you saying I may want to be with the letter writer? Bird, you  _do_  know who it is,  _don't you_!?"

"He does," I heard Marcurio say from across the house.

"MARC!" Bird bellowed.

"What?" he asked, now fully clothed and adjusting the buckles on his robe. "It's been months, Bird. Fuck the oath. You're even driving  _me_  crazy with the secrecy."

Forget having sex with my two best friends. Forget possibly being pregnant.  _Now_  I was upset.

Without a word I flung the linen sheet away from me, stomped over to my draped robe, and forgoing my underwear threw the robe around my body and fastened the buckles as quickly and as tightly as I could.

"Deb," I heard Bird call.

I ignored him as I looked for my boots. They were tossed on either side of the small, single table that Stenvar had.

"Deborah…." Marcurio placed a hand on my shoulder as I tugged on the fur boots.

"What!?" I snapped and stared down my friend, silently warning him to stop touching me. The second boot on, I gathered my scattered chest binding and ladybriefs and shoved them into the robe's large side pocket before heading for the door.

"Please, don't go," Marcurio softly pleaded.

I turned to my friend, my loose, long hair whipping around as I did. "I'm not angry at you, Marc." I looked to my right to see a contrite Bird, still tucked under the bedsheet. I felt my temples bulge as my jaw muscles clenched. I shifted my gaze back to Marcurio while padding my robe with my palm. "The key to this house is somewhere in here. Please lock the door when you leave. You can stay as long as you want, until Stenvar or his friends return, that is…."

I spun back around and stomped out into the bitter morning wind without another word. I didn't look back.

When I arrived at my bedroom in the student's hall I was welcomed by a small package placed on my bed with no markings aside from my name and "Winterhold College". I fought the urge to set the thing and my bed on fire. I unceremoniously opened the package to find a small book, titled "Songs of Skyrim". I opened the cover and found a short, unsigned inscription:  _I heard you sing, once. I'd like to hear you sing again. And again._

I violently threw the book across my room.


	41. Developments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mixed-sexuality-and-gender M/M/F and supernatural alcohol-induced NSFW stuff at the end.

I immediately regretted throwing the book. It landed open, page-side down on the floor. Though the book was far from being in perfect condition, three pages had become creased, and this was my fault. I was taking out my aggravation on the wrong target - two of the wrong targets. The book and its sender were not to blame.

No, the sender was to blame. The sender should have signed the first letter and gift and waited for me to reply.

_Thank you, sender, for the useful things. I'm sorry you can't sleep. I'm glad you told me who you were so I could send you that sleeping potion._

_Stupid sender. Stupid Bird._

_Stupid person knocking at my bedroom door._

A scowl firmly planted on my face, I swung the door open and stared into the worried face of Brelyna. My scowl slowly relaxed into a frown. "Hey, Brey."

"Hello...," she said in her usual soft voice. She too was frowning. "May I come in?"

I stalled momentarily before stepping aside, silently consenting to her entry. I closed the door before sitting down at my desk. Brelyna scratched her arm nervously before taking it upon herself to pick one of the other two chairs and sit on it.

The two of us hadn't really spoken since the day I admitted that I wasn't attracted to her as best as I could while drunk. We had been perfectly civil to one another during Onmund's trial, and had held each other's hands for a while after the second walk back from Saarthal, but we hadn't actually talked as friends for days.

It was Brelyna that broke the silence. "Did you stay with Marc and Bird at the inn last night?"

I gave my head a gentle shake. "We stayed at Stenvar's house. We were... too drunk to walk back to the college, I suppose…."

"Where are they now?"

I shrugged. "Still at the house. They... needed... some time alone," I sort of lied.  _Just tell her_ , I told myself.  _Tell her, idiot, you need a fucking friend right now._

"Are they alright?"

I blinked. "Yyyes, I think. Ehh..." I bit my lip and looked away. I was never good with keeping a pokerface.

"Deb? What happened?"

"I... we... we got drunk at the inn. Very drunk. Very strong ale. Onmund was there…."

"Onmund!?"

"Yes, but he didn't speak to us. I remember he looked at me like he wanted to smash in my face."

Brelyna thankfully gave a little laugh; it gave me the courage to continue.

"This morning, we woke up...," my mouth caught on the next series of words that had entered my mind. I couldn't say it, I couldn't say that we three had fucked, maybe, not knowing that Brelyna wanted me in that way, possibly, still.

"What?" she asked with pleading eyes.

"You're going to hate me," I whispered.

"Wh-... Deb, why would I hate you? What did you do?"

I began to sob, covering my face with my palms in shame. "We had sex," I sputtered.

Brelyna had risen from her chair and sped over to me to lay a hand on my shoulder, but the second I said those three words I felt her freeze, and her hand slowly lifted off of me.

"You... what?" Her voice faded into the ether.

"We had sex. A lot." I unveiled my face and wiped my tears away with the long sleeves of my robe. "At least me and Bird, and Marc and Bird." I sniffled. "I don't know what happened, Brey, I don't. None of us remember anything!" The sobbing began anew.

I could feel the hesitation in Brelyna's arms as she wrapped them around my shoulders, holding my head against her abdomen, but she soon relaxed. "That's how I ended up kissing Onmund," she said.

"Drunk?" I sniffled.

"Yes. He had been  _frierig_  me. I wasn't interested; I don't like men in that way. But I remember he kept pushing…. Ale and wine and mead… they can make people do crazy things."

"Very crazy."

"Are you sure you and Bird and Marc...? I mean, they are so devoted to one another. It just doesn't make sense."

"If it was not Bird, it was someone else who has a big...," I cleared my throat, "someone else who was not there in the morning. But that is not all, Brey." I looked up at her. "Bird knows. He knows the sender. The letter-writer."

"I was sure he did," she said as she released her hold on me and sat on the side of my bed, facing me. "How did you find out?"

"Marc knew that Bird knew, but Marc does not know who it is. Bird was very upset at him for saying…."

"I suppose Bird and Marc both now have many things to be upset over."

We exchanged understanding looks.

I then broached the final topic. "What if I am pregnant, Brey? I haven't been drinking the tea..."

She blinked her terrifying, yet ultimately caring red eyes at me. "Yes, what if?"

I stared at her a moment. "Marc said... he and Bird would... be fathers, if I am. But Bird said you knew how to make a potion."

"Do you want to be not pregnant?" she asked.

My fingers clenched onto the fabric of my robe. "I don't know," was my truthful answer. "How many days can I wait before a potion will not stop the child from growing?"

"Those potions are not very safe, Deb."

"Mirabelle took one, yes?"

Brelyna stared a moment before answering, "Yes. But she does not want any children, ever. I cannot  _trigjar_  that if you take that potion, you will still be able to be with child in the future."

My jaw dropped, but I soon realized that Bird would not likely have known about the other possible consequences of the potion he had told me about. I definitely did not want risk never conceiving another child again.

"Well, then, I suppose... if I am pregnant, then, I am pregnant."

Brelyna reached across the space between the edge of my bed and my desk chair. I could tell by the way she held my hand that she did so as a friend, and not a friend who desired anything else. For this, I was grateful. Not because I didn't want Brelyna hitting on me - though that would always be awkward for me - but because I desperately needed a friend.

What Brelyna said next, however, rendered my mind plagued with uncertainty for weeks to come. "You do realize, though, that they don't allow children at the College, yes?"

My brain stopped working momentarily. "I... they... don't?"

Brelyna shook her head. "No. Too much of the magic that is practiced here is dangerous, deadly. They even discourage women who are with child from casting spells – except for healing magic and wards, things of this nature, so long as it is done in small amounts. Too much energy is spent otherwise and can endanger the child."

I felt all the blood drain from my face. Eyes downcast and feeling utterly morose, I noted, "You know a lot about this."

"I grew up around mages. The College is of the right mind to have these rules."

I stared at my fur boots. "Two weeks," I said. I had finally done the math.

"Hmm?"

"Two weeks, and I will know..."

* * *

Lienne's funeral was held two days after she died. Patrice was visibly upset, more so than the woman's other friends, and I wondered if he had been Lienne's secret lover. I also wondered if he knew she had been pregnant when she died. If he didn't know, I didn't want to be the one to tell him and cause him further anguish, so I let the matter go.

Marcurio and Bird were noticeably absent from the funeral. Five weeks would pass before anyone saw them again. Five weeks that didn't include my monthly mess. Five weeks of holding Brelyna's hand and agonizing over my fate as a student at the mage's college.

When Marcurio finally returned, Bird accompanying, they found me in Brelyna's room. We were talking about the ambivalent relationship she had with her family, and about the awful break-up she had had with her last lover. My friend generously provided me with plenty similar distracting topics – anything to get my mind off of my own very big problem. Without Marcurio and Bird around, Brelyna and I had the time to let our own friendship grow, something I believe we both greatly enjoyed.

The door to Brelyna's room was open and Marcurio had started to walk in, but seeing me, stalled, and stared, speechless.

Brelyna cut right through the awkward haze. "Where in Oblivion have you two been?"

"Windhelm," Bird answered, stepping into the room, passing Marcurio. "Just waiting for the monthly supplies to be ready."

"Mmhmm, I'm sure..." Brelyna was not convinced.

"It's the truth, Brey," Bird said, plainly. "You can ask Birna if you want."

"That does not explain  _Marcurio's_  absence," she said, standing and crossing her arms over her chest.

"We just needed a vacation, Brey," Marcurio explained, a hint of exhaustion in his voice.

"Interesting timing," she noted.

I watched the exchange between my three friends. Brelyna was acting like a mother hen, or a lioness, or something in between that defended me against anyone or anything that would dare hurt me, physically or otherwise.

Marcurio was simply exhausted, possibly because they had likely just come in from being on the road for three days. Bird on the other hand had Guilt with a capital G (or, in Norren,  _Seyrk_  with a capital S) written clear across his face.

"I-" Marcurio started, but was cut off by Brelyna who held up her hand to the man before pointing her finger at me. Marcurio got the hint. "I'm sorry, Deb," he said, turning to me. "I thought you would understand. It was... We were... We just needed some time alone. We thought you would be alright with this, because of... what happened. We just thought we all needed some time apart. You said we could stay in the house – oh..." Marcurio reached into his robe pocket and retrieved a key, then placed it on a side table. "But... we left that morning for Windhelm; the cart-driver demanded it. I ran here to get my travel clothes and then we were off. I'm sorry I didn't tell you... I…." Marcurio's eyes had locked onto mine as he gave his explanation, and my lack of reaction seemingly unnerved him. He paused mid-apology, and asked, "What?"

Brelyna stood by the foot of her bed, steadfast and protective as I sat with arms wrapped around my knees, exhibiting my much-improved pokerface.

"I told you that you should have stayed…." Bird muttered.

Marcurio's jaw clenched as he ignored his husband's comment. "Anyway," he continued, "I am truly sorry. We did not run away from you, I promise."

Brelyna and I both held our emotional ground.

Frustrated by the silent treatment, Marcurio finally caved, and his temper ignited. "What!? What is it? Should I have brought for you some flowers or a butterfly in a jar? I don't know, Deb. What?"

 _A butterfly in a jar?_  I mused internally. I nearly let out a laugh at Marcurio's idea of an apologetic gift, but held firm onto my pokerface. I was, after all, angry, terrified, and very likely pregnant. I could tell that Marcurio was on the verge of throwing a fit, however, a sight that always, perhaps inappropriately, gave me a chuckle.

Brelyna finally ended her silence with a tirade of her own. "It's been over a month, you idiots! You've been gone for over a month!  _Think!_ "

It didn't take very long for Bird to pick up on Brelyna's meaning. "Shit," he said.

" _Yes_ ," Brelyna answered for me. "Big  _shit_. Big, big  _shit_. Thank the gods I was here for Deb while you  _weren't_. I understand that Bird had a job to do, but  _you_ , Marcurio Liore, you should have been here." Brelyna had a habit of wagging her finger at someone whenever she scolded them, and wasn't sparing Marcurio any of her slender, blue-grey digits. She slowly walked up to Marcurio as she continued. "Flowers and butterflies!? Nice try, pretty-boy. Even your too-late thoughts of gifts are  _sahla_. You're just lucky it's not  _me_  that you made pregnant and then abandoned. I'd scratch your fucking eyes out." With her last words she jabbed her scolding finger into Marcurio's chest, then turning around to walk up to me, she grabbed my hand and dragged me out of bed. "Come on, Deb," she said to me as we walked toward her bedroom door. "Let's abandon the fathers-to-be for a while."

The look she gave our two friends could have turned them to stone, if that was her wish.

We walked away from Brelyna's bedroom and left for the courtyard. Lunch would be ready soon, but I wasn't very hungry. However, Brelyna would make sure I ate something, as she had done for the last five weeks. It was midday, and mid-summer, and we could comfortably cross the courtyard without our cloaks without freezing to death. Summer in Winterhold wasn't so bad, in that way, so long as the sun was out. I had an epiphany that very moment that the name of the town itself may have been a play on words. I knew the word " _herath_ " meant "territory" or "holding", and that there were many " _herathen_ " in Skyrim. I knew that the name of the town,  _Veltnerath,_ was a combination of " _veltnir",_ winter, and " _herath_ ". Winter Hold. Winter's territory, forever holding on to winter.

Just before we reached the main hall entrance, I threw up the meager contents of my stomach into a snowberry bush; the perennially-growing plump red berries were not very happy with me.

* * *

After lunch, which for me consisted of bland porridge, the only food I could keep down, and meat pies for everyone else, I watched Brelyna practice her Alteration magic in the practice hall, a pleasant distraction from the realization that I was indeed pregnant. Unless I had the stomach flu, of course.

Brelyna was targeting different objects made out of different elements: a piece of driftwood, a rock, a piece of bone, a leaf, a bowl of water, and a chunk of iron ore. With each one, she was attempting to turn them into crystal. Or, at least that's how I understood her meaning of " _izsten",_ "ice stone"; I doubted she meant diamond. Thus far, she could only accomplish the transformation with the rock, which appeared to be some sort of granite. I hadn't known such a spell existed until then, and I was briefly stunned by the result.

But I had to laugh at her fierce determination. She tried, and tried, and tried to get the same result out of the other items. "Brey," I said, finally, "the spell will not work on the other items, I think."

Lowering her arms, she looked at me, disheartened. "Why not?"

"Because, dear Brelyna, the rock you have," I picked up a smaller piece of the same stone that she had not yet transformed into what appeared to be quartz, "this rock already has inside of it tiny pieces of the ice stone you want it to be."

Brelyna took up another piece of the stone and examined it. "No it doesn't."

"Yes, it does Brey. Looks very close. Tiny pieces."

"But this stone is red."

I smiled. "This stone is not one stone, but many. Many tiny, tiny pieces of different stones in one stone."

"So...," Brelyna examined the reddish granite, "that's why it is so easy with stone."

"Some stone, I suppose, yes."

"What about iron?" she said, putting the small rock back onto a table and picking up the iron ore. "I can turn iron into silver, and silver into gold."

I blinked, confused. "You can?"

"Yes, everyone in my family can. It's how..." Her mouth turned into a half-frown. "It's how they became rich, long ago."

I thought a moment, staring at the chunk of iron ore. "I suppose it is not... unbelievable. Iron and silver and gold are all metals. They all have something in common." I picked up the chunk of granite that Brelyna had transformed into quartz. "This ice stone does have things in common with other metals, but... it is not the same. If it is the same stone I know in my world, it is... air and something like metal, but not metal."

"Air!?" Brelyna questioned.

"A part of air, yes."

Brelyna appeared stunned. "I thought you were not an alchemist."

"I am not."

"Then how do you know such things about elements?"

I smiled. "Colleges in my world teach different things than this world."

"They teach about rocks?"

I placed the quartz back onto her small table. "They teach everything. Everything but magic."

"So... you learned about rocks?"

I picked up the piece of bone from her table. It was from a longbone of a large mammal; I couldn't tell which mammal, but it wasn't human, thankfully. "Bones. Rocks. People. Ancient people. I learned these things."

Brelyna considered my answer a moment. "What did you learn about people?"

I smiled at my friend. "Everything."

"Everything? But, what, exactly?"

"Everything, Brey. Languages, food, the way they see their world and the way they see other people. Why people hate, who people love, who people are not allowed to love and why…."

"Deborah," an unsteady voice called from behind me. It was Ilmeni. Her arthritic fingers handed me an envelope and she then continued on her hobbled way. I wondered exactly how old she was; how old she had to be to still suffer from arthritis, despite the abundance of mages who could easily heal anything. I wondered if, at some point, healing magic just couldn't help, if it could no longer alter how a living bone formed, and possibly only eased the pain of the natural deterioration of an aged body.

The letter was thin. It comprised a single folded piece of paper, my name and destination on the top fold, and was sealed with the usual unstamped glob of red wax on the opposite side. I thumbed open the wax seal and unfolded the paper.

_I never intended to upset you._

_I'm sorry._

_I am a coward._

No signature. No name. No hint at all to who this coward was.

 _Secret admirer? Stenvar? Marcurio? Bird?_ I had no idea.  _No, it wouldn't be Stenvar. He would have signed the letter, and he didn't really upset me. It could have been Bird, or..._

"Gods damn it!" I repeated the phrase I'd often heard.

"What?" Brelyna took the letter from my hand.

"Bird told the letter-writer. He told him. He told him I was upset and crazy and- Oh, oh Brey. What if he...?" I felt as if I was going to break down in tears. "What if Bird told the letter-writer about..."

She shook her head. "He wouldn't..."

"He told him  _something_. What if Bird truly knows him... or her. They must be friends." I groaned. "What if it is his courier friend, Snake? I told you about him. A nice man with black hair."

"Do you think it could be him?"

I shook my head. "I don't know anymore. I don't know. No, it would not be him. No." I walked over to a stone bench at the edge of the expansive circular practice room and firmly planted my face behind my palms.

Sitting down next to me and placing the refolded letter at my side, Brelyna asked, "Have you ever tried using a Clear-Seeing spell to find the letter-writer?"

"Yes. The path goes south."

"Windhelm," Brelyna suggested.

"Or any land more south. I remember... someone I knew... long ago... once saying he would travel to Riften, far east, far south."

Brelyna shook her head. "I don't think couriers could take a letter from Riften all the way to Winterhold in such sort a time as you have been receiving them."

I sighed. "I know."

"So, who in Windhelm do you think is sending them? Maybe you should go find out."

"I have ideas... I want to go. Maybe I should. But now, I am...," I pressed my palm to my lower abdomen. "Leaving Winterhold would be running from Marc and Bird, like they ran from me. I  _hate_  them right now!... But I do not hate them..."

"I understand. I'm sorry that I yelled at them."

"No, it was good. You were right. Marc should have stayed. And I should go find them. We do need to talk."

Brelyna sighed. "Indeed, you do."

A sudden wave of nausea swept over me and I barely managed to keep my lunch down. "Hmm, maybe later..."

Instead of looking for the fathers of my child, I returned to my bedroom and looked for a nap.

* * *

_"MMMMUAH!" I said as I backed away from Marcurio. "There, I gif't you a kiss. Now lez go t' bed. I'm tiiirrred."_

_"I'm not!" Bird chuckled as he hopped and skipped his way along the road to Stenvar's house._

_Marcurio wrapped an arm around me as we wobbled along._

_"Iz there," I said, limply pointing to a snow-covered small house. It was nighttime, and even in the summer it was cold enough for snow to fall and not melt. Despite the chill, however, I was overheating. "I'm's hot," I said before starting to undo the buckles of my mage's robe._

_"Yisss you arrre," Bird gushed._

_Marcurio began another bout of uncontrollable giggles._

_"I c'nnn't do it," I said, tugging at the buckles._

_"Not here!" Bird laughed. "C'mon, c'mon, inside... Wear's it?"_

_"S'wear's what?" I asked._

_"Th'ouse." He looked around the village road._

_"There, ssstupid-face," I said, pointing off to my left._

_"I'm nnnotta stupid-face," Bird protested._

_Marcurio laughed harder. "You-!" He laughed some more. "You can be!"_

_"Sshhhhhh-," Bird grasped at Marcurio's robe, "-shhhhhutttt... shut it... Shut... it..." Bird crashed his lips against his husband's, muffling Marcurio's yelp in response to having his nose crushed._

_I laughed. "Y'two are sssso cute. Gods. Issss so cute."_ Key. Key, key. _I searched my robe pocket for the key to Stenvar's house and finally managed a grip on the cold iron. I hoped the house I stopped in front of was indeed Stenvar's; the key opening the door proved me right. "Inssside you cuuuuute... cute things. Find a room!" I giggled._

_Marcurio and Bird continued kissing as they stumbled into the house after me. I pushed the door shut and locked it, then recommenced fumbling with the buckles of my robe. I blurted several curses in English when the stupid, stupid buckles kept me clothed and steadily overheating._

_A hand slipped under mine and in seconds had a buckle undone. Marcurio stood in front of me, grinning. "I'd a-practice. Longgg time." He giggled and walked back over to Bird who had found a seat on a chest at the foot of the bed. "Git nekked, mmmBirdie."_

_"Make me," Bird said._

_I laughed, listening to my two friends go at it. I then smelled something awful. "Ohh what... what the ffffuck izzzat?" I sniffed my robe. "Oh! Oh,_ euch, euch _, no." I threw the robe away from me onto the floor._

_"What? Did-," Marcurio giggled again, "-did you piss yerself?" More giggling._

_"NO!" I proclaimed. "Izztinky. Like, like the dead. The dead people. Dead dead dead dead people."_

_"Wash it," Bird said, slipping out of his own clothes and setting to work on Marcurio's. He chuckled. "Wash them all." He then tossed both of their outfits to the floor in front of me._

_My mouth hung open. "I'mmm not yer fffffuckin' slave." I kicked the clothes away from me. "We all clean. Equal... equal... work, Bird!" I shook my finger at him._

_Bird bellowed a laugh. "Alllright, alright alright alright alright." He stood and walked over to the pile of clothes. "Where'sss soap?"_

_I shrugged. "I'n'no. Sum-mhere. We c'n git snow f'r th' water."_

_"Wait," Marcurio said, staring down at a low, wide basin. "Thurs water 'ere. Soap." He pointed to a bar of soap on the wooden floor._

_"_ WHOOP! _" I shouted, happy I could wash the stench of death from my robe. "Ah! Wait. Y' two should wash first. You stink."_

_"Do not," Marcurio protested. "Immmper-als don't ssstink."_

_Bird laughed. "Imperials shit flowers."_

_Marcurio burst into laughter and crumbled to the floor, clinging to the washbasin. Bird kicked off his boots, flung off his loincloth, and stepped directly into the washbasin. He lifted his arms above his head and grinned at me. I immediately realized just how skinny the man was; he really did look like Legolas, just without the elf ears and dark eyebrows. Bird then looked down at Marcurio. "Wash me," he said, grinning ear-to-ear._

_When Marcurio gathered himself, he stood, bar of soap in hand. "Yes, m'love!" he consented happily._

_I threw my underwear somewhere and then walked outside to pee in the snow._

_The two continued to bathe one another for some time, and then we tossed all of our clothes into the same sudsy water and proceeded to wash them, scrunching and kneading the fabric haphazardly. When we decided the clothes were clean, we hung them on furniture._

_"I g'ta pee," said Marcurio, running out the door._

_"Wait for me!" Bird said, following._

_I chuckled and made my way to the bed, crawling under the linen sheet and fur cover. I was later woken by being flung into the air slightly when the two men landed with a thump onto the mattress. Moaning and rhythmic movements ensued._

_"Ohh, fuck me, godsss," I heard Marcurio say._

_"Whhh...," I groaned, unhappily being dragged out of my wonderful slumber. The hearth fire was lit and I clearly saw what was happening. Bird was on top of Marcurio, giving it to him, hard. Very hard. I couldn't look away; it was like watching an angry, skinny lion fuck a cheetah._

_Marcurio was squealing from pleasure or pain or something in between, and I was surprised to feel a familiar tingle in a familiar place. Marcurio reached out to me, grasping my bare shoulder, his fingers digging into my flesh. They didn't care that I was watching. They may have even liked it._

_Bird slowed his thrusting and slid forward, smoothing his body against Marcurio's and kissing his lips. Marcurio's hand was still on my shoulder when Bird's traveled to my breast._

_"Hey," I swatted Bird's hand away. "What'r'you doin'?"_

_Bird lifted his lips from Marcurio and turned to gaze at me._

_"Kiss her," Marcurio giggled. "Iss fine, I knnnow you wan' to." He snorted, and then added, "Heh, tits, hehe." I felt someone give my right breast a poke._

_Bird, still inside his husband, pivoted his body to hover over mine. He just stared at me. "C'mere," Bird ordered._

What? What?  _I was so confused. "But...," I protested, weakly. These were my friends. My married friends. Why was I so turned on by watching them have sex? Why was Bird asking me to come to him?_

_Bird quickly lowered himself onto me and took a nipple into his mouth, and I soon felt fingers dancing between my legs. "Wh... what... but... Bird, y're... Marc's…."_

_"Put her mmtop me," I heard Marcurio say._

_Bird's mouth left my breast and he looked up from my chest, flinging his long blonde hair back as he did so. He was waiting for my consent._

_Another giggle sounded from Marcurio and again he poked my right breast. "Iss ulllright, Deb," Marc said. "If y' want to. Iii want to…." Poke. Poke._

_I stared into Bird's blue eyes. His hand was still between my legs, teasing with feather strokes. He really did want this. Marcurio wanted this._

_I wanted this._

_With my palm I pushed on Bird's chest, urging him to sit back; he was still anchored to Marcurio. I stood on my knees, facing Bird. I felt a hand, Marcurio's, cup my right buttock and give it a squeeze. "Round," he said, giggling, smoothing his hand against my skin._

_Bird grasped my shoulders, leaned forward, and kissed me. I stiffened at first, surprised at the intimacy, but Marcurio didn't protest. I soon relaxed, and felt Bird's tongue flick against mine. A hand continued teasing between my legs, and another, then two squeezed my fleshy rear. I gave in to Bird's embrace, and wrapped my arms around him. I felt his bony shoulders and the contours of his shoulder blades, and then laughed, breaking the kiss._

_"What?" Bird asked, looking offended._

_"Y're skiiinnyyy," I drawled, and then made the mistake of looking down. "Oh, gods!" I shrieked, jumping back slightly. "Y're... HUGE! How... Marc... how d'you... get...? How!?"_

_Bird pushed forward, thrusting gently into his husband, prompting a moan from Marcurio. "P-practice," Marcurio sputtered with a laugh, and then gave another moan as Bird thrust again, and again. I felt Marcurio's hands grip my waist. "Climbbbb me," he said, pulling me to my right._

_"What?" I asked._

_"Climb 'n me," Marcurio repeated._

_Bird's hands gripped my waist from my front. "He's n'er fucked a woman, Deb. He wants you t' be 'is first." Bird grinned. "He's a woman-virgin." Bird leaned forward and began to suck at the flesh of my shoulder; his fingers continued to dance between my legs._

_"I...," I began, unsure of their own desires, but very much aware of my own. "If y're... you... truly want..." I moaned at Bird's intensifying touch._

_"We want," Marcurio said from behind me, still massaging my backside. "Please...?"_

_Bird's fingers began to work inside me, and I soon craved something more fulfilling. With the men's help, I climbed over Marcurio's torso, whose thighs were resting on Bird's. Holding onto Bird, who was still inside his husband, I was able to lower myself and be filled by Marcurio, laying my legs over his._

_Bird began to thrust again into Marcurio, each time causing a jolt of pleasure to spread through Marcurio, and then through me. Bird's pace increased and held steady for some time, but then Bird stilled. Marcurio's moans grew desperate._

_"Wh-, you stopped," I breathed._

_"Give us a baby," Bird whispered._

_"What?" I asked._

_"A baby. We want a baby." Bird kept one hand on my hips to hold me steady and cupped my face with his other. "Give us a baby, Deb. Please?"_

_I stared at my friend who looked as if he was about to cry. "Y'w'n' a baby?" I slurred._

_"Yes," I heard Marcurio answer. "Yours. Ours. Grrrreat, mag'cal baaaby," Marcurio laughed lightheartedly. "Baby mage." A hand left my hip and gripped my own hand which was braced on Marcurio's torso, giving it a squeeze._

_Bird thrust gently, slowly, then lowered his lips to mine, briefly. "Our baby," he said. "All 'f us."_

_"All 'f us?" I repeated._

_Bird nodded, and continued his gentle thrusting into Marcurio._

_As I gazed at Bird, and turned to look back at a smiling Marcurio, I couldn't think of anything I wanted more."I lurvvv y' two s'mmmuuuch," I began to cry, and then I gave Bird a kiss on the cheek. "Put a magic b'by 'n me," I cried, beginning to move my hips against Marcurio._

_"Yes, baby?" Bird asked._

_I nodded frantically. "Yes baby. Yes yes yes. I'll gif't you'm baby!"_

_At that, Bird lunged forward, holding my body flush to his and pressing his lips to mine. He began anew his frantic thrusts. Marcurio soon cried out, releasing inside of me, and Bird slowed his thrusts. Marcurio's fingers dug into my flesh as his climax waned, holding me to him, not wanting to let go._

_But Bird grasped my arms and lifted me up and off of Marcurio. He then crawled around me and lay on the bed, still at full sail. He reached out to me, but I hesitated, and giggled. "Wasshhh it," I ordered._

_"Hmm?" Bird asked._

_I pointed to his erection. "Wasshh yer giant cock, Bird!" I stifled a laugh._

_"I'll do it," Marcurio huffed._

_I crawled backwards and lay next to Bird; the two of us were still incredibly aroused. Marcurio washed Bird with a wet cloth, and then proceeded to fellate him. I watched in awe as Marcurio took Bird into his mouth. My jaw hurt in empathy._

_"Tha's sssooo... yummy," I said, unable to look away._

_Bird was then tugging on my hand, urging me closer to him. Giving in to Bird's further silent directions, I soon had Bird's face between my legs. I had to grip the headboard to steady myself. I was getting dizzy, and incredibly frustrated. As Bird's tongue teased, agonizingly slow and delicate, I felt hands from behind me hold my waist and try to pull me away from Bird's mouth. Bird held onto my thighs, however, refusing to let me go._

_"C'mon, Birdie," Marcurio whined. "You c'n put a b'by 'side 'er."_

_Bird still refused to let go. I was panting, head spinning, craving release._

_"Bird...," Marcurio said._

_I began to moan._

_"Bird," I heard another whine._

_The tongue that teased me pressed firm and began pleasuring me in earnest._

_"Birdie." Marcurio was relentless._

_Hands gripped my waist; armed gripped my thighs; pleasure gripped my core._

_"Wait...," Marcurio said as I began to cry out with pleasure. My thigh muscles quivered beneath me. Though my eyes were closed I knew the room was spinning. I lost my balance. Marcurio caught me before I fell backwards, but Bird held on, not releasing me from his grasp. I shuddered and moaned and cried as I climaxed._

_Sooner than I would have desired, Bird released me, and holding onto my hips deposited me onto his own. I felt his heat against my folds. I squirmed above him, sliding along his substantial shaft, continuing my pleasure by any means possible._

_I leaned forward and kissed Bird with far more passion than I probably should have, but Marcurio didn't seem to mind. I prepared myself mentally for receiving Bird inside of me; I hoped it wouldn't hurt. I sat upright and, gingerly, lowered myself down his length. Slowly, so slowly, I was impaled, and urged forward for another kiss._

_Behind me I felt curious fingers playing, exploring. Marcurio was watching his husband fuck me, touching both me and Bird. I soon felt a wetness against my other entrance, but refrained from breaking my kiss with Bird. He still tasted like ale, flowers and meat, and I was hungry._

_Marcurio's tongue played along with his fingers. Bird was still not nearing release, but I was edging in on my second. I then realized why Marcurio was playing with me back there. A finger entered what was not already occupied, and I stiffened. Two fingers. I moaned against Bird's mouth. More wetness, and a tongue. Another finger. Bird continued to thrust up into my body as Marcurio teased. Bird moaned, and I felt a hand brush against our joined regions. The fingers were then gone, and I whined, still not released from Bird's kiss. Soon, though, I felt a hard smoothness press against where the fingers had teased. Knowing full well what Marcurio was about to do, I tingled with anticipation. Bird stilled his thrusting and held me close, and then Marcurio was inside of me. My moan that was muffled by Bird's mouth was deep, guttural, and filled with the sound of overwhelming pleasure. Marcurio moved slowly, settling in, and then Bird recommended his own movement._

_My two friends were soon both moving rhythmically inside of me, alternating thrusts. Bird's mouth left mine, and I was pivoted to the side. Bird's lips then found his husband's. The pair thrust into me, moaning into my ear. I turned my head to watch them kiss. Though I was between them, it was as if they were making love to one another now, not me. As I was filled again and again, I watched as their tongues danced. I saw a tear roll down Marcurio's cheek. I began to cry, too, but not because I was sad._

_Bird's thrusts became more fierce as his release neared._

_"Deb," one of them said._

_"Yes!" I cried in pleasure._

_"Deb!" Someone grabbed my shoulder._

* * *

" _I'll give you a baby. Mm, baby. Yes. Yes. Baby."_

"Deb?"

" _But, Marcurio, baby's don't go in there_."

"What? Deb... Deborah…."

My eyes opened to see Marcurio's face way too close to mine. I jumped back, slightly, unsure of where I was. I looked around and saw the familiar surroundings of my bedroom at the college. I wasn't in Stenvar's house. I wasn't being fucked by two men.

"What were you saying, just then?" Marcurio asked. "Was that your language? Were you dreaming?"

I blinked.  _Dream. Dream_. "Oh, gods!" I squealed, shoving my face into my pillow.

"Ehh, Deb? What's wrong?" Bird asked.

I groaned something into the soft downy cushion that concealed my face.

"What?" Bird asked again.

I lifted my head off my pillow and shouted, "I dreamed it! I dreamed it! I saw...," I groaned, "everything. I saw everything. I  _felt_  everything."

And then I puked on Marcurio's shoes.


	42. Sanguine Visions and Sensitive Decisions

"Gods...  _damn it_ , Deborah!" Marcurio squealed after jumping back too late from the side of my bed.

I stared at the partially-digested porridge for a moment before closing my eyes, attempting to stave off an encore. "Sorry," I said absentmindedly.

"Mmhmm," I heard Marcurio reply with his familiar snark.

"She didn't  _aim_  for you, Marc," Bird said.

"I didn't. I'm sorry. I cannot keep any food inside today, yesterday, the day before that..."

"So...," Bird began, "Brelyna wasn't joking when she said... if we had gotten  _her_  pregnant..."

I meant to say "no" but I ended up sounding some sort of grunting growl.

Marcurio gave a small whimper when he peeled off his soured leather shoes. When he had them off, he looked up and announced before leaving, "I'll be right back..."

A moment later, Bird asked with a hint of amusement, " _Did_  you aim for his shoes?"

"What?" I turned to Bird, appalled. "No, Bird, no." I turned away from him; I didn't want to look at him. When I felt him sit down next to me on my bed, I wanted to shove him off, but I didn't.

"So, about this dream..."

"Shut up," I snapped.

"What? Why?"

I whipped around and glared at Bird. "Shut up. Shut  _up_! You... you know who it is, Bird. You know who it is in Windhelm and you talked to him. Or her. What did you say? That I am now crazy or sad or not interested? What!?"

"Wh- I," Bird stammered, "how... do you...?"

"'I NEVER INTENDED TO UPSET YOU' _,"_ I shouted the first line of the most recent letter.  _"'_ I'M SORRY. I AM A COWARD'." Bird just blinked at me. "What did you say? What!?"

"Who's a coward?" Marcurio asked upon his return, buckskin slippers warming his feet.

I let out a cry of frustration and grabbed at my hair, curling into myself and holding tresses between my fingers, refusing to look at my friends.

"I was at the courier's office in Windhelm," Bird let out a sigh, "just... talking to Snake about things. You and... the letter-writer came up, because Snake handles all of the mail from Windhelm, everything sent from there, so he knows who it is."

"So it  _is_  coming from Windhelm," I muttered, relaxing enough to let go of my taught hair.

"It... yes," Bird exhaled roughly, "yes. I didn't know what the person looked like, I just knew the name. So, when the person came into the office while I was there, I didn't know it was... the person. I told  _Snake_  you were upset, confused and angry and frustrated.  _Snake_ , not the letter-writer. It... was just bad timing. It just happened, Deb. While we were talking, Snake said hello to someone who was waiting for him to finish writing in his  _umat_  book, and then I looked back and there was no one. Snake told me it was... that person. We didn't think anything of it, but I suppose the person returned later with...," a frown crept over Bird's face, "what you just received."

"Just fucking say the name, Bird," Marcurio pressed.

Bird became visibly agitated and stood from the bed, shaking his arms around until he took a few deep breaths to calm himself. "No, I just can't, I'm sorry. It's not just the oath, Deb." Bird turned around and looked down at me and then across my bed to Marcurio. "From what Snake tells me...," Bird's brow furrowed, and he hugged his chest with his arms. "From what I have been told, the letter-writer cannot handle the stress of... telling you, Deb, without you being... there."

I glared at Bird. "There. In Windhelm."

"Yes. Snake tried to... convince the person otherwise, but... Listen," Bird said, sitting back down next to me on my bed. "You are being  _frierat_. _"_

I knew I'd heard that word before, but I didn't recall what it meant. "I'm being what?"

"It means," Marcurio began, "to... give things to someone, do things for them, hoping that the person will...," he looked to Bird, "understand that someone loves them." Still looking at Bird, he shook his head, clearly not satisfied with his own explanation.

"It's what someone does when he or she wants to marry someone," Bird translated. "Someone specific, not just anyone. But, maybe, the person they desire doesn't know that they are desired. It's considered..."

" _Naga,"_  Marcurio offered.

"What?" I asked.

The men both sighed. "Cute, or...," Bird tried to think of a synonym.

"Sweet," Marcurio added. "It's considered sweet, something very desirable. The person tries to... win the other person's love."

"Win my love?" I whined. Apparently,  _frierat_ meant something like "courting".

"Just... relax," Bird said, daring to grasp my hand. "Let yourself be courted. Give the person time to… find the courage to tell you. In person. Besides, we have...," he let go of my hand and looked to my waist, "other... problems..."

"Did you mention the dream?" Marcurio asked Bird, sitting down on my other side.

"I  _tried_ ," answered Bird, who then turned back to me. "You said you had a dream, Deb? You saw everything... Did you mean about... that night?"

I nodded, slowly.

"I think we had the same dream," Marcurio said, "the night before we arrived in Winterhold. We both woke up... ehh... well, it was a very...  _real_... dream. "

"And then...," Bird shifted his body to face both of us, crossing his legs on the mattress, "then, while we were... after we woke from the dream, someone appeared outside our tent and was trying to get our attention. It was that man, from the inn, the one who Dagur said made the recipe for that ale. He was drunk."

"Very drunk," Marcurio chimed in. "And naked and... ehh... happy."

" _Very_ happy," Bird added with a little chuckle.

"He was naked?" I asked.

"Well, it was almost warm outside," Bird said. "Anyway, the man... thanked us." Bird's face contorted, as if he'd just gotten a whiff of spoiled milk.

"The  _skam_  actually thanked us for testing his new ale.  _Testing,"_  Marcurio nearly spat the word. "He said he was glad to see that it worked."

"Worked? What worked?" I asked. "What did the ale do besides make us drunk? A-… wait, how did he know…?"

"The ale made us… give in to our deepest desires," Bird said, looking away.

I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. "H-how?"

"The... man...," Bird began, eyes downcast, "was...  _Smolakap_."

"The... what? The man was what?" I asked.

" _Smolakap_ ," Marcurio repeated. "The Daedric Lord of... well,  _Smolakap._ "

"He was a  _Daedra_!?" I asked.

Marcurio nodded.

"We drank ale made by a Daedra...?" I elaborated.

Marcurio nodded again.

"And... the ale... it... made us... do things...," I hugged my bed cover to my body, "things we wouldn't do without the ale?"

"Apparently," Bird answered.

"He... the Daedra... told you this?"

"Yep," Marcurio answered, "aaand that's not all..."

"What?"

"Heee said...," Marcurio began, "that he did it as a reward for his Champion."

"His  _champion_ ," I repeated. "That is what Meridia calls me. What... who is this Daedra's champion!?"

Marcurio exhaled slowly before answering. "Onmund. Onmund is his Champion."

"Onmund!?" I gasped. "He was...," I saw his face clearly in my mind, sitting right next to the man who had made the ale. "He was sitting next to him, the... Daedra, in the inn!"

"Yeah," Marcurio said. "I didn't think anything of it..."

"But, why?" I asked. "What does this mean? Onmund... was it Onmund's revenge? On me!?"

Marcurio shrugged. "You, us, everyone, I don't know. He wanted you, Onmund did. He wanted Brey, too."

"It's as if he thought…," Bird offered, "that having us fuck one another would… I don't know... ruin us."

"If he did, he was wrong." Marcurio reached out a hand to grasp my forearm. "I hope, anyway." My friend's eyes were glistening, pleading.

I looked away from Marcurio and nudged him so he would let go of my arm. "So... we drank this ale that... made us give in... to... desires. But, what did I give in to? I don't want to be pregnant. I didn't want to... do things... with either of you. I don't understand." I gagged a little, letting yet another wave of nausea course through me.

"And I don't want to  _do things_ with you either, Deborah," Marcurio forced me to look at him, "but don't you understand? I wanted a child. A child with Bird. But neither of us can..." Marcurio dropped his gaze, closed his eyes, and inhaled and exhaled slowly before continuing. Bird reached across me to put a hand on Marcurio's shoulder. "And Bird," Marcurio continued, "Bird wanted a woman, any woman, really. He missed a woman's body. I knew he did…. I suppose deep down he felt comfortable with you."

"I did. I do. I mean, feel comfortable. We're friends, Deb, you understand? It wasn't...," Bird sighed, "I didn't want to... do...  _that_ , but...  _Smolakap_  is all about giving in to what we desire, whether we admit it or not. He encourages... being free. I... I'm not explaining this well..."

"What does  _Smolakap_  mean?" I asked.

The men thought for a moment. "Like," Marcurio started, "when you have a burn on the skin, before you heal it, you are in pain. The healing gives you relief. When you love someone, but do not have them, you are in pain. Kissing them gives you relief. When you hate someone, you want to hurt them, and doing so gives you relief. In all cases, you... burn. You burn outside, or inside.  _Smolakap_ wants people to heal the burn by any means necessary."

" _Smollla-kaaap_ ," Bird enunciated for me. " _Smola_ , means... the part when you're in pain.  _Kap_  is the fire."

"'Smola kap'," I repeated.

"Some people call him The Cheerful Bloody One," Bird said.

"Oh…," I gasped.  _Sanguine_ , I thought. Cheerful. Bloody. I felt nauseated, but my stomach soon calmed.

Pain. Fire. Pained by fire. Pain. Yearning. Passion.

Passion. "Oh, wow," I sighed out the words.

"You understand now?" Marcurio asked.

"Yyyes," I nodded, slowly. "You and Bird... desired... a baby. I... can give you a baby."

"Mmhmm," Bird nodded.

"I... was...," I momentarily stopped my verbal train of thought. What was I? What was my desire? "But what did I want? What did I...?" I couldn't even ask the question.

"You said it yourself, Deb," Bird said.

"Said what?"

"You were scared," he continued, "and wanted... companionship."

"Companionship, yes! But I...," I stopped protesting, thinking back to our conversation that morning, the morning after, to my own conclusions regarding why I had likely had sex with Stenvar that first time, aside from actually liking him and  _wanting_  to have sex with him. "Fuck," I said, defeated.

"Exactly," Marcurio said with a smirk.

I couldn't deny the fact that I was by nature a highly sexual person, but, sober, I drew the line at having sex with partnered – and gay – friends. Drunk, apparently, and especially with the aid of magical otherworldly alcohol, I was utterly lascivious.

 _But…._  "I remember," I began, "I didn't start it." I looked at Marcurio. "You started it. With Bird, and then me."

"It was both of us, Deb," Bird said, "I remember, too. You didn't want to, but only because Marc and I are married."

"And you waited for me to agree," I said quietly.

"Yes," Marcurio said. "I'm sorry if you regret it, now. I suppose we all do, in some way. But... you are pregnant, yes?"

I gave a little nod. "Yes, I think so. Or perhaps I am just very ill; too ill to bleed... too ill to eat..."

"And, if you are...," Marcurio continued, "you will be with child?"

I came to understand, from talking with Brelyna, that the phrase "being pregnant" referred to the state of having conceived a child whereas "to be with child" meant carrying the child to term.

I breathed in and out, slowly, gripping the bed cover that I held against my body. I then looked up into Bird's eyes, and then into Marcurio's. They both wanted this child before it even existed; this I finally understood, both from the dream-memory and from gazing upon their hopeful faces. But my body and my ova were not theirs to commission, particularly while drunk; I couldn't help but feel somewhat used.

Over the weeks while Marcurio and Bird were away, I brooded about this very moment when I would speak with the fathers-to-be about our future child. I had at first given in to the realization that I did, at least one day, want a child, but I would have wanted it when I was ready to start a family of my own, if I had met someone to start one with. I had also experienced the terrifying realization that Meridia saw me as her champion, someone who would, one day, fight in her name. If I was correct, I would be fighting undead, or perhaps necromancers, or both. Another Daedra, Hermaeus Mora, was hunting me, craving my knowledge. I didn't know when he would attack my subconscious again. Furthermore, Savos Aren was convinced that, given my spiritual status as a Child of Akatosh, I was destined for great things; Meridia had indeed said, in so many words, that I would save the world.

"I'm scared," was my answer. "I'm not… ready. Not for this. I can't… I can't raise a child now. Not with everything I am being trained for. Not with Daedra fighting over me, my… soul, or whatever. I can't even have a child at the college."

"You wouldn't be alone, Deb," Bird said. "Marc and I want a child. We've always wanted one. And since… this child is of our making…."

"We could take care of it," Marcurio picked up Bird's thought. "We could all be the parents, but since you are… ehh… in high demand, Bird and I could, well, be there when you cannot be there. Listen…," he cupped a hand around my shoulder, "I'm due to graduate in just two months. I'll be a  _Vinala_  Mage, and will be able to look for a job. Bird can continue to be a courier for a while and…," Marcurio looked across me to Bird, "and…," he continued, looking back to me, "we have a house in Windhelm."

I watched Marcurio as he spoke; his words took a moment to sink in. "Windhelm?"

"Yes," Marcurio confirmed. "A small one, but big enough…. Bird stays there when he's in town, before coming back here."

"When Marc graduates," Bird interjected, "he'll be moving back there." He paused, and then added, "You could come, too."

"But… two months?" I asked. "I do not think I will be finished here in two months."

"Talk to Savos," Marcurio said, "maybe they can give you the same test they will give me."

"Or you can come back here," Bird said, "right, Marc?"

"Mmhmm," he nodded, "after the baby is born."

"Wait, wait," I interrupted. "Please. Marc, Bird, I-I'm…," I let out a little cry then lay back down on my bed. "I don't… want… this."

"Want what?" Marcurio asked.

"This!" I cried. "Any of this! I don't want to be pregnant. I don't want to leave the college. I don't want a secret someone who… courts me! I want to finish learning magic and graduate and do whatever I was brought here to do and then  _GO HOME!_ "

Silence.

More silence.

"Which home?" Bird asked, quietly.

And then I was crying. Uncontrollable, spasming sobs and rivers of tears claimed my body. I was helpless against the onslaught of affection that soon flanked me on both sides. Marcurio and Bird slid in close to me on the bed, wrapping their arms around me, holding me. Someone offered me what must have been a handkerchief. My face hurt. My eyes burned. I wanted nothing more than to be left alone to wallow in my misery, but the iron grip of friendship refused to relent. Their arms felt like a straightjacket. Unplanned pregnancy was a straightjacket, an oppression of my future.

When my sobs quieted, I was alert enough to register Marcurio's and Bird's clasped forearms laid across my abdomen. A vision from my dream-memory replayed in my mind – it was Marcurio, crying as he kissed Bird while the three of us… tangoed. I remembered, vividly, emotionally and corporally how it felt in the final moments of being tangled between the two of them. In the end, I was barely there. I was a vessel. A vessel that had offered itself out of love. Drunken, uninhibited love.

"In my world," I began, calmly, "it is not uncommon to… give one's body to another, to grow a child, knowing in the end, the child will not be yours." I felt the two men shift their bodyweight a little. "The mother still feels… attached, sometimes. Not every time, but sometimes. It is natural and cannot be changed." I sighed. "I would not have asked for this. Not now." I watched Marcurio's forearm muscles tense. "If you two had asked me… years from now… to help give you a child… I think I would have said yes." The muscles relaxed.

"You would have?" Marcurio asked.

"Yes. But, far from now, after everything was finished. This is the wrong time."

"It doesn't have to be the wrong time," Marcurio said as he sat upright, facing me.

"No, Marc, it is. It is all wrong. But…," my hands instinctively moved to my lower abdomen, brushing against Bird's hand, "Brelyna says I cannot take a potion to end the pregnancy without risking never being with child again."

"Oh…," Bird said.

I wrapped my fingers around Bird's hand and held on tight. "I can't…  _not_  have this baby," I concluded. "If I am pregnant, I will be with child. I have decided this." Bird's hand squeezed back. "I just… I…  _hate_ … you. I hate you both,  _so much_ right now. I want to scream and kick and run away…."

Marcurio reached for my hand. "Deb…."

" _Don't…_  speak. Don't." I continued, staring at the stone ceiling. "You say the ale we drank… made us do things we secretly wanted to do but maybe didn't think or talk about. I remember what we said, from the dream-memory. You said you wanted me, wanted a baby from me. I said I loved you. I said I would give you a baby. But… I was drunk. We were all drunk. Does that make it not rape?" I asked the question rhetorically. I didn't expect or want an answer, since I didn't have one myself. "If I could make a baby appear after blinking my eyes I would do it for you. But I don't have that kind of magic. I have a… mother… stomach. That is my magic, the magic you two do not have." I pushed Bird's hand away, sat up, scooted down the bed, and then stood facing my friends. Both of their faces were long with worry. "I don't want this baby," I continued. "I don't. I…. If… if it was just me, I would wish it to go away. Just… go away. But it is not just me. It is you two and me. And…," I exhaled, slowly, "I love you two. I do. I  _hate_ you… but I love you. I saw what happened, as you did. I felt it. I know what I felt, then. I… gave my body to you to make a baby, and that's what happened. I  _hate_  myself for doing that, but… it is done. I cannot change it. I am not bleeding and I am ill without fever. I am pregnant." I tucked my hands into the sleeves of my mage's robe and hugged my torso. "This is your baby. Yours, not mine, and I will be with child for you two… if you will adopt it."


	43. Dear Diary, Part Two

I removed another piece of dried beef from my knapsack. I then took out a cold, steamed leek from my sack of sustenance, laid it down along the jerky, and went to town. Bird gave me a questioning look.

"What?" I asked, taking another bite out of the leek-spiced jerky. "I'm hungry."

"That has to last you three days," Bird said.

"I'm  _hungry_ ," I repeated. "I packed enough, I think. I also have cheese and bread and apples, and snowberries and a cabbage."

Bird continued to gaze at me, and soon his expression turned from concerned to amused. He began to chuckle.

"What?" I asked him.

"No one's going to want to kiss you with leek breath," he said, his cheeks turning red as he stifled a laugh.

My smirk turned immediately to a frown.

"Uh oh, what did I say?" Bird asked.

I sighed. "I… I think I know who the letter-writer is."

"Oh? Who?"

I shook my head. "No. I'm not going to say. I was very wrong last time. And you would not tell me if I guess right anyway."

"That is correct," Bird pointed and winked at me. "Still, you can tell me and be wrong. It won't hurt anything."

"But what if I am wrong? What if I am  _right_  and I see the answer on your face?"

Bird raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I would give myself away so easily?"

"You already did, once. You said you did not know the person's face, but knew the name. It could not, then, be the Jarl of Windhelm, who was on my list of… possibilities."

"The  _Jarl_!?" Bird laughed. "Why would the Jarl…? Wait, did you and he…?"

"NO!" I shouted, kicking Bird's boot. "But he… well, he liked that I had knowledge from another world, about history and wars and things. I thought it possible for him to want… more… but now I know it is not him."

"It's is most certainly not Jarl Ulfric," Bird stressed. "Be thankful of that."

"Why thankful? He seemed nice enough. Just… well, you know, people like… rulers and things, they are often… different."

"Ulfric isn't… he isn't for you. I will just say that."

"Hmph…." I chomped down a third strip of jerky before Bird spoke again.

"So, how do you feel about… the person you think it is?"

I couldn't stop the smile from creeping across my face. I didn't want to answer his question, though, and just shook my head. I then distracted myself by writing in my journal – a new journal for a new year – in English, as usual.

_22nd of Heart Fire_

_Nearly two years after arriving in Skyrim_

_One year after first arriving at the college_

_First day on the road back to Windhelm_

_Today I left the college with Bird. I thought it best that I left before winter fell and the trip via mountain road between Winterhold and Windhelm became even more unpleasant. My morning sickness is gone finally. I'm not really sure what's normal, but over two months of barely being able to keep down anything but porridge, snowberries, and carrots – and sometimes not even that – is ridiculous. But now I'm about three months pregnant and hungry all the damn time. All I want is a supreme pizza with pepperoni, green peppers, Italian sausage, and a pound of onions and shredded cheese, but I have to settle for beef jerky and steamed leeks and something akin to very sharp cheddar. I would also kill for a donut. A real donut, not these things they have here called sweetrolls which aren't even that sweet. I want a chocolate cake glazed donut from that place in western Massachusetts that makes Krispy Kreme taste like stale bread coated in sugar. I have recurring fantasies about it; I need it in my mouth. I'm still not over the fact that I will never taste chocolate again. Or coffee. Or ice cream. I want some cookies & cream ice cream with a crumbled up chocolate glazed donut on top right fucking now or I might end up eating a leak-seasoned Bird._

_I wonder if drawing the food will help with the cravings…._

_Anyway, the news that I was pregnant spread quickly through the college, and Mirabelle eventually sat me down for a talk. She told me exactly what Brelyna had – magic takes energy, and casting too many spells could result in not only me losing consciousness, but the possible death of the fetus. Though I don't really want this child, I know I'd break Marc and Bird's hearts if I was careless and overexerted myself. I also know that a fetus dying in my womb could quickly kill me, something I also want to avoid._

_I stayed for one month after Marc graduated and left for Windhelm, and during that time I mostly limited my schooling to reading. Mostly. In the library, instead of actually reading, sometimes I would instead watch Elodie read._

* * *

_One month ago, in Last Seed_

Ever since the death of her wife Osana, Elodie had become increasingly standoffish. Everyone had to stop asking her about Saarthal and the Psijic Order, because when someone did ask her about it, her eyes glazed over and she became practically catatonic. The topic was soon dropped, but her desire for solitude increased. She dined alone, practiced her magic alone most of the time, and, like me, buried her nose in books to avoid having to think about life in general.

Instead of studying incantations, I studied Elodie's features. The white orbs that lit the library made her flaxen hair appear silver, and made her green eyes glow like back-lit emeralds. Her cheekbones were wide and round, and she often used some sort of pink makeup powder, similar to blush I supposed, to accentuate her best feature. Before I met Elodie, I didn't even know makeup existed in this world. She also used charcoal pencils to accent her eyes, and often wore red lipstick. She tried once to explain to me what her lipstick was made out of, but among the varied ingredients all I understood was bee's wax and berry juice. I always thought I looked odd with lipstick on, so I declined her offer for me to borrow hers. I also refrained from kissing her ruby lips, something I thought about doing often. I wondered if they would taste like the berries they were painted with.

One day when I was feeling particularly depressed for no real reason other than that Marcurio had recently left and I was pregnant and nauseated half the time, I approached Elodie in the lounge attached to the dining hall. She was sitting alone on a cushioned sofa, lost in her own thoughts.

"Elodie?" I called softly.

"Hmm?" she looked up. "Oh, hello Deborah. How are you?"

She was always so painfully polite. I found it odd, but never said so. "I am...,"  _nervous, worried, angry, sad_ , "fine. How are you?" I sat down near, but not exactly next to her on the sofa.

Several seconds later, Elodie also lied. "Fine."

"I... I wanted to ask you..." I searched my mind for anything to break the ice. "I wanted to ask you about the... ghost sword you used at Saarthal. The one that vanished."

"Ghost sword? Oh, the conjured sword. Yes, what about it?"

"Well, how do you create it? Is it difficult? I am so... not steady with a real sword, and I thought using the one you use would be good for me."

"I watched you at Saarthal...," she crossed her legs and held her clothed knee with her hands. "You are not as bad with a sword as you think."

"Still... I would like to learn that spell, but I only know the one conjuration spell, to get rid of Daedra. Can you teach me, or do I need to talk to Phinis?"

"For the sword spell, and other weapons, I can teach you. But that is all. Phinis guards the other spells closely."

"Guard? Why?"

"Some spells that he knows can be very dangerous if practiced by the wrong type of mage."

I gulped. "Like a necromancer?"

"Exactly. But I will teach you to conjure a sword. Would you also like to learn how to conjure other weapons?"

Sword. Dagger. Bow and arrows. Elodie agreed to teach me how to conjure them all. Brelyna said she wasn't sure I should be working with Conjuration magic, but Phinis, Elodie's instructor, said since I was already a capable enchanter, summoning weapons "wouldn't really change much". I didn't know what he meant by that, but I didn't think anything of it. My reasoning that a ghost sword was lighter than a real sword and therefore better for a pregnant woman to use was a good enough argument to convince Elodie to agree to teach me the spells.

The learning process started with holding an actual weapon in your right hand and a filled soul gem in your left. It could be any weapon, or any item for that matter. There were specific words in a language unfamiliar to me that one had to recite in order to learn how to summon what was essentially a spectral copy of the weapon or item you held in your right hand. Oddly enough, one only had to recite the magical words once and, poof, the spectral copy of the object was linked to you, able to be summoned without almost any effort, and the ghost object would remain with you for a few minutes for beginners like me, or hours for masters like Phinis.

Elodie decided to start with a nice "elven" dagger the she carried. Before we began, she laid the dagger, soul gem, and book of incantations on a small table in the practice room, and took both of my hands in hers. "Deborah," she began, "you have enchanted before, so I will make this brief. Summoning weapons is not something to be done carelessly, and not something to be done every day. When you enchant a weapon, you take the soul from a soul gem and use its power to bind a spell to the weapon. By completing this binding spell, you will forevermore be linked to Oblivion. You—"

"What?" I asked.

Elodie blinked her beautiful eyes. "What?"

"Did you say 'forever linked'? To Oblivion? Like… where Daedras are?"

The half-elf-woman-goddess stared blankly at me. "Yes. What is the question?"

I slid my hands out of hers. "I don't want to be linked to Oblivion! Hermaeus Mora is in Oblivion!"

Elodie continued to stare. "That is also where Meridia is. And you already have a weak link to the realm."

It was my turn to stare. "I do?"

"Yes…. You have enchanted before. And you have learned how to send Daedra's servants back to Oblivion.  _And_  you are  _tilkaltur_  by Meridia. Therefore, you are already linked to the realm."

I wasn't sure if this hadn't been explained to me before, or if I just hadn't understood.  _Too late now_ , I supposed. "But what about the baby?" I asked.

Elodie half-frowned and gazed at my lower abdomen, though I wasn't showing at all yet. She raised her eyes to meet mine. "I don't know," she said.

We stared at each other for a moment. "You didn't think of that before agreeing to do this?" I asked her.

"I thought you already knew what the process did, and that you were alright with going on, with child."

"But you just said you don't know how the process would affect a growing baby. This isn't even… I…," I didn't want to announce to everyone in the practice hall that I was not carrying the baby for myself, so I just stopped talking.

"Maybe we should talk to Phinis, after all."

"Maybe we should," I agreed.

* * *

"Has Marc found a job yet?" I asked Bird as we settled into our tent.

"Sort of," my friend answered. "The old alchemist in town died, so for now Marc's helping out the old man's  _laerling_ until they find a real replacement."

"'Laerling' _,"_ I repeated. "I still don't know what that means. It is like an assistant?"

"Mmhmm, an assistant that eventually takes their mentor's job when their mentor can't do the job anymore."

 _Apprentice_. I finally understood that damned word. "What can a mage do for jobs? I only know of court mages."

"Court mages, healers, alchemists, battlemages, sellswords…."

"Sellswords?"

"Sure, except they use magic instead of swords, usually, or a combination of the two."

"Would Marc want to do that?"

"No, I don't think so. He'd like to find a job in Dawnstar where my family is, or perhaps Riften where his mother lives, but we'll take what he can get. We would prefer somewhere safe, away from most of the fighting. Windhelm might be the best place, for now."

It was our second night on the road; the previous night I had shivered until Bird spooned me and we shared our body heat, just like the first time we met. The first time, spooning was far less awkward than it was at that moment. I wondered if we would ever return to a similar level of non-awkwardness that friends have before they see each other naked, let alone have drunk sex and create a life together. Fortunately and understandably, Marcurio and I didn't have the same level of awkwardness any longer, likely because he was completely and utterly unattracted to me, whereas Bird was bisexual and, as made evident by the dream-memory from our drunken threesome, there was at least a base level of attraction. Oddly enough, I was more attracted to Marcurio than I was to Bird; I just never liked skinny guys, but particularly skinny blond guys. I wondered if Bird realized this when I blurted out that I found him skinny, as I remembered happening from our shared dream-memory, a dream that was sent to all of us on purpose. This Daedra,  _Smolakap,_  who I mentally referred to as Sanguine after learning what his name meant, wanted us to remember; he wanted us to suffer the knowledge of the passions we had given in to because of him, because of his champion, Onmund.

Despite any awkwardness the two of us might have felt, I snuggled up close to Bird, and lying somewhat on my side I wrote again in my journal. Bird watched me, intrigued by the "strange writing", but I was convinced he just enjoyed watching the motions of quill on paper. He soon fell asleep, and his light snores joined the chorus of howling winds beyond the tent walls.

_23rd of Heart Fire_

_Second day on the road back to Windhelm_

_After Marc left, I spent most of my free time with Brelyna. We talked more about minerals and elements, which was nice. I enjoyed watching her attempted strange transformations, such as turning a piece of stone into iron or, quite literally, water into wine. I reminded her that if she wanted to turn stone into iron, it likely had to already contain iron in it, just like the stone she turned into quartz. I then joked that only a god could turn water into wine, but she told me she'd seen it happen with her own eyes. Considering gods actually exist in this universe, I wonder if water really could be turned into wine._

_I wonder what it truly means to be a Child of Akatosh, to have supposedly a natural inclination toward magic. I wonder what this means for the life inside me, and for any children I might have in the future. Will they be supermages? Will I ever be the supermage that Savos is convinced I will be? Will any children I have be linked to Oblivion like I am assumed to be? Elodie wasn't concerned about me doing conjuration spells and learning how to bind a weapon to me while pregnant, but Phinis and Brelyna both had their doubts, and that was enough for me to back out of the plans Elodie had made with me. I don't want to force Oblivion onto this person I am growing inside of me._

* * *

_One month ago, in Last Seed_

We found Phinis in the library, and when Elodie posed the question to him, he paused a moment to consider his words. "Though we at the college discourage  _heavy_ use of magic while pregnant, I have never known magic, even Conjuration magic, when practiced with caution, to adversely affect a life inside its mother. My own mother did this with me. However, that said, I am also now a conjurer…." He paused for what felt like an eternity as he wrangled his thoughts on the matter. "If you have any worries, Deborah, about binding something to yourself, even briefly, I would suggest that you simply avoid conjuration magic as well as enchanting while pregnant. Unless of course you have been working with Sergius already these last few months?"

"No, I have not worked with him at all." Sergius Turrianus was the Enchanting instructor at the college. I had already become quite proficient in the practice under Wuunferth's guidance, and figured I'd focus on learning new skills while in Winterhold.

"Well then, refrain from learning these binding spells until the child is born," Phinis said, heading to the library door. "They should come easy to you, considering your link to Meridia, so, there is no real hurry to get started."

I stopped in my tracks and watched Phinis leave. I then turned to Elodie, who had remained by my side. "Does everyone know about Meridia?" I asked her.

"Most likely," she said, giving a little shrug. "Just as everyone knows about you and Bird, too." I watched as her cheeks blushed to a sort of peachy color.

"Me and Bird? There is no 'me and Bird'."

"Well…," she made a gentle gesture toward my abdomen, which still looked the same beneath my spacious mage's robe.

"Well, what? I also… I mean, why do people think Bird? It is more likely to be Stenvar's," I lied.

Elodie laughed, linked her arm with mine, and walked with me out of the library. Her mood lightened from then on to one far less serious. "Everyone knows about the fight you all had, Deborah, and the night you all spent in Stenvar's house. Some think Stenvar was there as well… and even Onmund. Word travels fast among students, and words spoken in the stone halls carry far."

 _Great, I am rumored to be the college mattress._ My sigh was more of a whimper.

"Do not worry, though." I could hear the smile in her voice. "What the other students think matters not. What matters is that you, Bird and Marcurio all love one another, and are going to be a family."

"What!?" We had reached the main hall and I snatched my arm away from hers. "No, Elodie, that is not what is happening. Not at all. I am merely—," I looked around the hall and lowered my volume, "I am giving them the baby; it was never mine. It was their plan, and I agreed to it. Drunk, but I still agreed. We were all drunk. Is this not what you have heard?"

Elodie's laughter was hideously beautiful; it was like listening to a love song when all you wanted to hear was death metal. "No, no that is not what I have heard. I didn't know there was alcohol involved." She winked at me and continued toward the practice hall.

* * *

Bird was watching me write in my journal. It started to get annoying. "What?" I asked him in my best annoyed tone of voice.

He smiled. "Are you nervous?"

I stared at him a moment. "Of course I am nervous. If you would just tell me who it is, I might be less nervous."

"No," he said, shaking his head, sending his angel hair to and fro, "if I did, you might act strangely in front of the person, and that would be good for no one."

I glowered at my friend and continued writing in my journal.

_24th of Heart Fire_

_Third day on the road back to Windhelm_

_We're set to arrive in Windhelm late this evening, and I'm incredibly nervous. I'm nervous to face the man who I think has been writing me letters and sending me gifts. I'm also nervous about the possibility of seeing Stenvar again. I left a note for him in his house that I had left the college for Windhelm for a while, but I didn't say why. I wasn't about to tell him what had happened in a letter of all things._

_I don't know what I'll do when I see my suspected secret admirer. I was wrong the first time I had a guess as to who it was, so very wrong, but this time I was almost certain. It had to be Yrsarald. It just had to be. But the doubt about the identity of the person nags my brain, since Bird continues to use genderless pronouns and other such words like "person". It could be a woman, but I don't know any women in Windhelm. There are the female palace guards that I saw from time to time, but aside from pleasantries I never had a conversation with any of them. There is also the vague possibility that the letter-writer is Ralof. Eyleif could have left him or been killed, and he could easily have returned to Windhelm. (I discount the idea that it is Wuunferth or Jorleif – that would just be ridiculous – and I doubt Bird doesn't know what Ulfric looks like. He was clear that it isn't Ulfric, anyway.) The other possibilities are far less likely than Yrsarald sending letters and care packages. Yrsarald had practically hovered over me while I was at the palace, at least after the craziness with the undead woman. I also remember getting strange feelings around him, like he was itching to say or do something but never did._

_I don't know how I feel about the idea that Yrsarald is attempting to court me, or that he is in love with me. He had been such a great friend and a great help. And to make matters worse, I am pregnant. I would put good money on him turning the other way once he finds out about that…._

* * *

_Four days ago, the 21st of Heart Fire_

"I just don't understand why you have to leave so early," Brelyna said, helping me pack. Or rather, standing by my knapsacks, staring as various garments disappeared into their depths.

"I can't bear not knowing any longer, Brey. I need to know who is sending me letters."

"Yes, I can understand that, but could you not wait until… I don't know…."

"It will be winter soon. I don't want to travel during the cold… during the more cold than it is already cold now." Brelyna was visibly sad, and she triggered my pregnant tears. "Damn it, Brey," I said, laughing my tears away.

"You can't blame me for being sad. First Marcurio, now you…. At least Elodie is staying around for a long time, like me."

"I will be back, Brey. Soon after the baby is born, I think. Unless…." I stared at my fur clothing.

"Unless?"

"Welllll," I began, "what if…." Brelyna's eyes urged me on. "What if I end up… you know… with the letter-writer?"

"He can come live here. Maybe. I don't know."

"I don't think so. And if it is who I think it is… he can't. You say you will be here a long time; good, that means when I return, you will be here, and I will still have a friend here."

"Will you at least write to me? Tell me about the baby, and who is writing you those letters…."

"Of course I can write to you, Brey. And you can come visit, you know. The palace has guest rooms and Marc said he has a spare bed."

Brelyna ran her hand along the edge of my largest knapsack. "I could come, I suppose. When the baby is born."

"I think the men would like that. So would I." I folded my last piece of clothing and placed it with the rest, and then gazed at Brelyna. "Can I give you a hug?"

Brelyna blinked her terrifying red eyes at me. "Well, yes, of course you can."

The realization that I was leaving behind my only female friend finally hit me, and made me cry once again.

* * *

The first night back in Windhelm was spent at Bird's house, and Marcurio was waiting for us with dinner ready. He showed me the room he had prepared for the baby, which was also to be where I would sleep while visiting, since the single bed in the spare room would only be used by the child later in life. Marcurio spared no time getting items necessary for an infant – a bassinet, a sling to hold the baby to the chest, and a pile of cloth diapers and closed-tipped pins, otherwise known as brooches, or  _fibulae_  to ancient Romans.

The next morning, the men dragged my belongings to the palace for me, refusing to let me lift anything heavier than my fur cloak. I was greatly annoyed by this, but I had to remind myself that I had agreed to carry this baby for them, so I complied. The guards at the palace doors recognized me, thankfully, and let us inside. I led the way to the stairwell that led to the upstairs bedrooms. It was mid-morning, and no one was in the main hall, not even Ulfric; I didn't even hear any voices. I thought perhaps the palace inhabitants were all elsewhere for some reason, but when I turned into the room with the big map I saw someone hunched over the workbench, struggling to re-string a bow.

It was Yrsarald. A very scraggly Yrsarald. The door to the stairwell creaked when I opened it, catching the large man's attention. His head jerked up and upon seeing me, froze in place until his forearm muscles begged to be released and he finally allowed the bow string to relax. "Deborah," he said, as if it took him a moment to recognize me.

"Hello, Yrsarald." I smiled, and took in the sight of the mountain of a man. The red in his light brown hair was more apparent than before, particularly in his facial hair which had grown from a goatee to a full-on ZZ-Top beard. He apparently had made no effort to trim either the hair on his head or face, and he now held his longer hair back with what looked like a gold bead on each side of his head. I wondered if he was growing it out intentionally, or just hadn't the time or care to trim it.

Not wanting to gaze at the man any longer than I had, I turned to the stairwell and ascended, Marcurio and Bird following close behind with my belongings. I wondered what that must have looked like to Yrsarald, my presumed secret admirer – two men trailing a woman as if they were her servants. I made a mental note to introduce my friends to Yrsarald once my belongings were settled in what I expected to still be my room.

I had hoped to introduce my friends to Wuunferth, but his door was closed, so I turned to go back downstairs. When we returned to the map room, Yrsarald was still struggling with the bow string. I cleared my throat to get his attention, after which he not-very-gently put the bow down onto the workbench. Yrsarald still wore his usual uniform, bear paws and all, but what he no longer wore was a smile, something that I had almost never seen him without.

"Yrsarald, this is Marcurio and Bird, friends of mine that live here in town. Marcurio recently graduated from the college." I turned to my friends. "This is Yrsarald, Ulfric's…," I turned back to the mountain-man, "ehh, war advisor?" I knew the words were not correct, but I was close.

"Warfare advisor, yes," Yrsarald answered. The three men closed in to one another for the customary forearm clasp of introduced friends-of-friends. I noticed how tense Yrsarald appeared, which I found odd. I expected him to be as happy, smiley and personable as he had been a year ago. I relaxed, however, when he said, "Nice to meet friends of Deborah's." His smile returned, but only for a moment; it did not feel genuine.

"Same," Marcurio said as he let go of Yrsarald's forearm.

I watched the three men, looking for any signs that Bird recognized Yrsarald, or Yrsarald, Bird, but found none. "Ehh, well," I began, turning to Yrsarald, "we are going to go to the market square. Do you need anything?"

Yrsarald stared blankly at me for a few seconds before answering with a simple, "No, thank you." He, like Elodie, was always extremely polite in his conversation. What Yrsarald wasn't, usually, was curt. Something was definitely wrong.

I left with my two friends seriously wondering if I was  _again_  terribly mistaken about my suspicions as to the identity of the letter-writer. I looked once more to Bird for any knowing glance, anything at all, but found nothing but a warm smile that was directed at Marcurio. I then no longer wanted to eat Bird out of frustration and hunger; I wanted to eat him because, in that moment, I loathed his very existence.

And then I smelled garlic-spiced venison in the market square and was happily distracted by my own excessive salivation.


	44. A Little Birdie Told Me

Wuunferth was away on some sort of mage business, I had learned from Yrsarald. The man was still very blunt and uneasy around me at breakfast my first morning back at the palace, ignoring me for the most part and sitting next to Ulfric and Jorleif, who I normally avoided. Galmar was away on some campaign, I overheard. After breakfast I had nothing better to do so I went to visit Marcurio at his new job.

Watching Marcurio work in the alchemist's shop was hypnotic, and relaxing. He didn't do anything particularly interesting; his job description involved taking inventory, receiving shipments, and helping customers with the more simple purchases, such as buying ready-made potions. His boss, a middle-aged man named Quintus Navale, was nice enough, and had a similar accent to Marcurio but was otherwise nothing like my friend. Quintus, whose Romanesque name told of his family origin from Cyrodiil, was somewhat timid and far less self-confident than Marcurio. His muttonchops were also very distracting.

Marcurio and I talked about nothing in particular that morning. Out of boredom, I almost told him that I had previously lost a baby here in Skyrim – my first pregnancy ever – but I quickly remembered that telling an expectant parent about such things was never wise. Marcurio was even more invested in my current pregnancy than I was, and I wasn't about to stress him out over nothing.

Bird had taken care of his courier business in town, and at midday came to the alchemy shop bearing lunch for four – himself, Marcurio, and me-times-two. We ate above the shop at the dining table, and with Quintus out on some errand, were able to talk in private.

"Yrsarald is behaving strangely," I said after swallowing my first mouthful of leek-and-meat-and-cheese sandwich.

"Is he?" Marcurio asked.

I nodded. "He was always so… happy. Always smiling. I thought he would be happy to see me."

"Maybe he just didn't expect you now," Bird offered.

I glared at Bird, still convinced he knew exactly what was going on.

"Besides him and the court mage, do you know anyone here?" Marcurio asked before sipping his wine.

"No, not very well anyway. The Jarl, a little but, no."

Marcurio studied me, pondering something.

"What?" I asked him.

He put down his goblet and gazed at me another moment, looked to the poker-faced Bird, and then back to me. "He's  _fritha_ , that man of yours."

I chewed my sandwich, and before swallowing asking, "What man? What is 'fritha'?"

"Beautiful, but… for men," Marcurio answered.

 _Fritha._ Handsome. "What man? Yrsarald?"

"Yes," Marcurio nodded. "And, he likes you," he said, plainly, as if he was reporting the weather.

I stared at my friend. "Why do you say that?"

"It was the look in his eyes," Marcurio pointed to one of his own honey-browns, "the look he had when he saw you, the look he had while you introduced him to us. Any id—ehh… anyone else could see it. Except for perhaps the one the looks were meant for. This is normal, though. Well, for some people." Marcurio smiled at Bird and the couple shared a brief kiss.

Bird remained silent, but was smiling.

"But… then why now, after a year does he behave so… unlike before? He was very… ehh, mothering, before. That is not the right word…. He was protective." My gaze froze and I ended up staring at Bird's fingers while I realized the truth. "Oh…."

"Oh, indeed," Marcurio said, smiling.

I shook my head. "I was so… I had my mind and… everything else on Stenvar, one year ago. I… I was blind to everything…. Damn."

"Hey, it happens," Bird said. "I was blind to Marcurio, at first, because I'd never… never thought I would, could, love a man. I just had never been with a man. But he…," Bird's smile turned into an ear-to-ear, fish-hooked grin, "well, he grew on me."

"What he means to say is I was  _nadela_ ," Marcurio smirked.

"You were what?"

"Ehh, determined." He smiled. "I met him in Dawnstar where he was living, so many years ago, and I was in love at first sight."

"You were not…," Bird protested.

"I absolutely was," Marcurio nudged his husband and then turned to me, smiling, "and don't let him tell you otherwise."

My friends' antics made me grin, briefly taking my mind off of my troubles. I was soon frowning again, though. "Marc, how can you be so certain of what you saw in Yrsarald's eyes? Perhaps he was simply surprised to see me."

"No, no," Marcurio said, shaking his head, "he wanted to do, or say a lot more than he did when he said your name. I could feel it. I have been where he is right now. It is a horrible feeling."

I looked to Bird, who had his face buried in his sandwich. "Bird?" I called in a scolding tone.

The man looked up from his meal, to me and then to Marcurio. "What?"

"Don't say 'what?' to us," Marcurio said, his temper rising somewhat. "Is that man we met the letter-writer or isn't he? And don't you dare say anything but 'yes' or 'no', or you will be sleeping on the floor by the hearth."

* * *

" _Goddamn_ Orri," I muttered to myself in English as I left the alchemy shop. It was as if Bird had made it his hobby to personally torment me.

The weather in Windhelm was cold again as winter approached, and I tugged my hooded fur cloak on as I marched through the busy market square. I saw some familiar faces, but not many – the blacksmith and his apprentice, the tall elf-woman selling miscellaneous goods, and even some of the off-duty guards who had taken off their helms. I had a brief urge to go to the Candlehearth inn to see if Stenvar was around, but I knew he would tell me if he was.

Instead of heading anywhere in particular, I wandered aimlessly around the city. In certain sections, unlike the main plaza, market square, or area in front of the palace, the tall stone buildings blocked the strong winds from assaulting me. People tended to head downhill when they walked absentmindedly, and that was what I did. I spotted an unfamiliar section of town and I headed down the narrow path. I suddenly wished I hadn't. The area I found myself in was dark, crowded, noisy, dirty, and smelled of sewage. I had lived in Windhelm for months and had never known this area of the city existed. I didn't know why I was surprised, though, since every city in my own world had its sketchy areas. But this long, narrow and densely-packed street with dilapidated apartment buildings and businesses didn't give off the feeling of danger; it gave off the feeling of poverty. Sometimes poverty equaled danger, danger of muggings and or other such crime, but not always. I saw several people, human and dark-elf alike, talking casually outside of some business. I did not feel ill at ease here.

As I walked on, three dark-elf children ran past me, squealing. One boy was chasing two girls with what looked like a dead rat on a stick. These were the first elf children I'd ever seen, and I couldn't help but stand there in the street and watch them play. Or, rather, watch the little boy play, and watch the girls be tormented all in the name of childhood fun.

I wondered how old the children were. If Brelyna looked to be my age and Savos about sixty, and yet both of them were much, much older than that – Savos was at least two hundred years old – were these "children" in their teens, twenties, or even thirties? I made a mental note to write Brelyna and ask her about elf aging, just out of curiosity.

I walked on after the children entered an apartment building. Everything about this area of the city reminded me of what I knew about ancient Rome and its social hierarchies and housing structures. Patricians lived in villas – this was Ulfric and his palace. Plebeians, the people of the working class, lived in nice-enough apartment buildings. The poorest Plebeians lived in apartment buildings just like the ones I was walking past. I realized I had spent almost my entire time in Windhelm at the palace – no wonder I was clueless as to the other, far-removed sections of the city.

I continued along the narrow road as it angled uphill and found myself emerged near the palace. I stared at the two palace doors, tall enough for a giraffe to walk through, and thought about my strategy.

 _You can't let him know that you know,_  Bird had said.  _I could lose my job, Snake too._ I let the residual anger pass before I took another step. I needed to be natural and calm before entering the palace. I needed to be my normal self.

I couldn't act weird in front of Yrsarald.

Finally free of anger, I continued on to the palace and made my way to my room. Ulfric was sitting on his throne, listening to someone talk about cattle. Jorleif, as usual, was standing nearby. Yrsarald was thankfully not in the map room, and I let out a sigh of relief.

I unlocked my bedroom door and was greeted by an object on my bed. I looked around and no one was in my room, so I closed and locked the door behind me. I approached my bed slowly, cautiously, unsure of what I was looking at. It was brown and lumpy, and had dark-brown stitching all over it. I realized whatever it was, it had fallen over on its side, out of its apparent presentation position. I picked up the object, which was made out of a soft unpolished hide, turned it about, and eventually found myself staring into the face of the ugliest stuffed toy bear in the history of stuffed toy bears.

The stitching was a dark cloth thread, and it crudely secured the bear's limbs and head to its torso, the ears and snout to the head, and even a small tail in the back. The toy felt squishy and soft just like any plush toy from my world, and I wondered what it was stuffed with. Its eyes and nose were formed by round, flat black nubs of some sort of metal, and its awkward smiling mouth was formed by the same dark stitching. Weirdly enough, the bear had a fourth black nub sewn to its belly to represent a navel.

" _Do bears have navels?_ " I asked myself in English.

I stared at the toy a moment longer before placing it on top of my dresser, setting it to sit upright against the wall, facing my bed. I sat on the edge of my bed, absentmindedly shrugging out of my cloak while staring at the bear toy. It appeared to be old. I thought perhaps Marcurio or Bird had it sent to the palace and perhaps Jorleif put it on my bed, but I figured my friends would have just given it to me at their house when I went over there for dinner, as I had planned to do that night, again.

A knock on my door dragged me away from my contemplations.

"Jorleif," I said with no attempt to hide my non-excitement after opening the door to see the man with the massive mustache.

"The Jarl would speak with you. Downstairs." It wasn't a request. I locked my bedroom door and pocketed my key. It shared a key ring with the one for Stenvar's house. Jorleif hadn't waited for me to follow, but I eventually found him in the main hall by Ulfric's throne. This was new; previously, Ulfric had always held an audience with me in his private quarters. I wondered if I was in some sort of trouble. I stood in front of Ulfric, unsure if I should curtsy or bow or salute or anything, so I just stood there, waiting.

Thankfully, Ulfric spoke without much delay. "It is nice to see you back in Windhelm, Deborah."

 _Phew_. "I am… I have returned earlier than expected."

Ulfric's brows rose. "Are you not yet graduated?"

I nervously pressed my lips together before answering. "No. But I will return in…," I did some quick math, "maybe one year or more."

"Why the delay?" the Jarl asked.

 _Lie! No, he will think you have failed. Shit, shit, what do I say?_  "I… have… found myself… ehh…," Ulfric's unwavering gaze was unnerving.  _Just say it._  "With child. I am with child." I blurted everything as if I had been holding in a lie and finally couldn't bear the stress any longer. "I am going to have the baby and two of my friends are going to adopt it, and then I will return to the college. It has been decided, and the Arch-Mage has no problem with the matter."

Ulfric continued to stare; Jorleif looked as uninterested in me as ever. "Well," the Jarl finally spoke again, "I am… sorry to hear about your delay in graduation, as will be Wuunferth. But you are well?"

"Y-yes, I am."

"Good. Are you able to work?"

"Work? Yes, I can do some work. What work am I to do?"

"I have a new  _sendinun_  of weapons that are in need of enchanting. The courier arrived from Winterhold just the other day with the soul gems. Can you handle this?"

I stared slack-jawed at the Jarl, unsure of how to answer. I went for honesty, yet again. At least, partial honesty. "Women with child are… discouraged from enchanting. It is something about the soul gems… and Oblivion. I do not want the child to be linked to Oblivion. You can understand, yes?"

Ulfric was visibly displeased, but not angry.

"I can do something else," I quickly offered; I didn't want to be kicked out of the palace, forced to live in Marcurio and Bird's small house. I was also running very low on personal funds and I really needed the free room and food that working in the palace had to offer. "I can help with the cooking."  _Liar, you're a terrible cook._

"Sifnar can handle the few people we have here to feed," Jorleif answered for the Jarl.

"I am told Wuunferth is not here," I again answered quickly, overly willing to put ideas in Ulfric's head rather than letting him think of his own. "Besides enchanting, what can I do in his absence?"

The Jarl waved off my train of thought. "The old mage only has a few responsibilities, and enchanting is one of them." Ulfric ran two fingers down a braid that framed his face.

"I can help with the city," I blurted, stupidly.

"Pardon?" the Jarl asked.

"Jarl Ulfric, in my world, my job was to understand people, how they lived."  _Think of something good, and fast, genius._ "I… is there anything I can do to… help the people of Windhelm? I am sure the war has been hard for everyone."

"Who exactly needs help in my city?" the Jarl asked, ostensively offended.

My shoulders sank in defeat. "I don't know… my Jarl," I repeated the phrase as I had heard others say it. I wasn't sure Ulfric was  _my_ Jarl, but in this case, he very much had to be. "You tell me. Who can I help? What can I do to help? I only ask for the room I have upstairs, and enough food for myself… and the baby. I will gladly help Wuunferth when he returns, but I am not comfortable with enchanting right now. My apologies. I did not ask to be in this situation; it just happened."

"Wars do not wait for children to be born," said the Jarl, his tone growing weary. His fingers, still holding onto a braid, stilled, and he gazed at me a moment in silence. "Advise me," he said.

"Advise you? With what?"

"Whatever I need advising on. You have knowledge from another world. And as you said, war is hard on everyone, and you claim to be good at helping people."

"But you have Yrsarald for war knowledge. I am not a… war person. Not at all."

"And yet one year ago you wanted to join my army…." Ulfric leaned forward.

"Yes, as a healer. Which… I could do, then, but not now…."

"Then advise me. Work  _samana_  Yrsarald. Help Wuunferth with… whatever that is not enchanting. This will be your job, in exchange for living here until you can return to the College."

At the mention of Yrsarald, I bit down on my tongue to distract myself from the mix of emotions I was feeling. "Thank you," I said. "I accept." I stared at the Jarl, who merely nodded.

Silence.

"May I… go… now?" I asked.

"Yes, yes. Go," Ulfric waved me away without another word.

I turned around and grabbed a loaf of bread from the banquet table before heading toward the training room. I was angry, frustrated, terrified and hungry, and I needed release. I wasn't sure I should use my magic, not after exploding one of Yrsarald's straw dummies with my lightning magic, and now particularly because I was pregnant, so I decided to use the indoor archery range that was located in the farthest corner of the training halls beneath the palace. I hadn't picked up a bow since my days in Riverwood, but I was desperate for release, and I remembered how calm I felt while Faendal had taught me how to be a better archer.

While I headed downstairs, I scarfed down chunks of bread. Several soldiers in the typical blue-and-leather Stormcloak uniform were sparring in the first training hall. As I passed through the second hall, I heard heavy grunting and a deep clunking sound coming from the third. I walked in to find Yrsarald hoisting some sort of weapon that looked like a giant hammer above his head and smashing it down onto wooden logs and uprooted tree stumps that had been taken into the training hall for targets, I supposed.

He was topless and sweating heavily. Along with the gold beads that held back clumps of hair away from his face, he had tied back his longer locks with a leather thong. I hadn't realized I had stopped chewing my bread until the man looked up after smashing a log into pieces and saw me. I was fairly certain my mouth had been open just enough for Yrsarald to see partially-chewed bread. Mortified, and admittedly somewhat turned on, I jogged past him into the final hall where the archery range was laid out.

My hair was already tied back in a thong, so all I needed was an armguard to prevent bow-string stings. I picked out a simple, wooden longbow and some cheap iron arrows used for practicing, laid them down on a table on the last of the ranges furthest from the hall entrance, and set to work.

Load the arrow, point down. Balance the body. Lift and aim. Force half-naked-and-sweaty Yrsarald out of the mind. Loose.

The arrow missed completely and made a clinking sound when it struck the stone wall behind the circular target I was aiming for. " _Damn it_ ," I spat in English. Load. Balance. Aim. Aim better. Aim smaller. Loose.

_Clink._

" _God fucking shit balls!_ " I blurted again in English.

"Is that your language?" asked a deeply-accented voice far to my right. It was Yrsarald. Of course it was Yrsarald.

"What? Oh, yes. My language." I put the bow back down on the table and planted my hands on my hips. There he was, approaching – sweaty, half-naked Yrsarald. Goddamn it.

"I thought you were supposed to be good at this," he said, a tiny smirk forming on his lips.

"Ah—well, it has been… over one year since I held a bow. Long, long time. And I was never very good."

Yrsarald stood opposite the table that held the bow and arrows I had selected. Oil-fueled sconces glowed around the hall, making his thick red-brown chest hair glow orange and accenting sporadic beads of sweat. "Can I help you with something?" I said quickly, looking up to meet his eyes and not his massive pectorals.

"No," he said, looking away as if he actually needed to inspect the rack of bows hanging on the wall. "I just wanted to say hello. And…," he turned back to me, "ask how the College was for you. I apologize I had not spoken much with you since you returned. You were not here for dinner."

"No, I had dinner with my friends."

"Those men?"

"Yyyes…." Something was odd about Yrsarald's tone, and I wondered if he thought I was with Marcurio and Bird. As in,  _with them_  with them. "They are married," I blurted. "To each other. Bird is a courier…. I came from Winterhold with him."  _But you already knew that, didn't you? Coward. We're both cowards._

"Mm," Yrsarald grunted in acknowledgement.

Silence.

"The college was good. Nice. I made good friends and… learned a lot. About magic." And myself, but I wasn't about to tell Yrsarald I was some sort of super-special-mage-hero-in-the-making. Nope. I wanted to ask him about the bear toy, but that would have opened up the flood gates for all the other gifts and letters, and I wasn't supposed to know about the letter-writer's identity.

Yrsarald pretended to inspect the bow I had chosen to practice with.

"Your hair is longer," I noted, not knowing what else to talk about.

That got the man's attention. He looked up and laid the bow back down. He appeared almost hurt, as if I had offended him.

"I like it," I said quickly. "It… it looks good."

Silence.

"Thank you," he finally said.

I began to get agitated. "You… y—… you're making me nervous."

"I am?"

"I will keep missing the target if you watch me."

"Oh." Yrsarald turned to leave, but quickly turned back. "I am not very good with a bow, they're too… delicate… but I can help you get better, if you want."

For some reason my loins decided to tighten in response to Yrsarald's offer to help me handle a delicate bow.  _Down, girl_. "Yes. Yes. I just want to relax. I like using a bow. It is relaxing. But, I need help. Thank you."

Yrsarald's familiar smile finally reappeared and relief surged through my body. He grabbed the longbow and walked around the table toward me. He loaded an arrow and readied his aim. "Watch me, my body."

I nearly choked on my own sudden onset of a very specific kind of anxiety.

Yrsarald loosed his arrow and it struck the target two rings away from the bull's eye. "See, not very good," he said, smiling.

"I do not see what is so different between your arms and mine. Ehh, besides size, maybe…." I knew I was blushing.  _Damn it._

"Watch again. It is not size, but position." He loaded another arrow, aimed, and held his position. "Walk behind me, around me, to see what is different, how I hold myself."

My willpower was in full-drive, thankfully preventing me from reaching out and feeling the man's bulging muscles. I sighed. "I still do not see. I think I just need more practice. I only loosed two arrows, after all."

Yrsarald relaxed, and then handed me the bow and notched arrow. "Fine, then I will watch you, and tell you what I see wrong." He smiled.

The next three arrows I shot hit the edge of the target, the third ring out from the bull's eye, and then the wall away from the target. "See," I said, "it is something else. I am not consistent. This is not new for me. It doesn't matter… I am just doing this to relax."

"And I suppose my watching you is not helping you to relax?" He was half-sitting on another table, arms crossed over his chest, smiling.

I sighed again. "No, it is fine." I walked to the target to retrieve our spent arrows. "Oh, Ulfric has told me to work with you in advising him about… whatever."

"He did?"

"Yes." I walked back with the arrows, laid them on the table, and looked up at Yrsarald. "I hope that is alright with you."

My answer was a smile.


	45. Yrsarald

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another long chapter, but I promise reading it will go by fast. Too fast. It's all happening too fast….

" _Eat it... It's...yeah...like that... It's chocolate. Yeah. Oh, mmm... Feed it to me. Oh god just give me the raspberries. Put... no... Put it in my mouth. N-... no, MY mouth. Mine... I want it in my mouth. No, Yrsarald it's MY chocolate cake. N-... Gimme the remote. No, not 'Top Gear'!"_

My eyes opened. Temporarily disoriented, I thought I was back in my bedroom in Colorado, watching "Top Gear" with a naked Yrsarald, feeding each other chocolate raspberry cake. The twenty-foot stone ceiling, however, brought me back to Windhelm. Skyrim. Nirn. My hand drifted to my abdomen. Still pregnant. My stomach growled. Still starving.

" _Ugh_ ," I groaned, oozing reluctantly out of my bed. I crawled into my mage's robe, slid on the boots that the college provided their students – they were similar to woolen slippers – and plodded out of my bedroom and headed down to the kitchen. The sun wasn't up yet and therefore breakfast would not be ready for a while, so I took it upon myself to attempt to cook or bake something that would settle my angry stomach.

One week after arriving back in Windhelm, nothing had changed. I was still hungry all the time, craving foods that didn't exist here. Yrsarald was still not admitting to being the letter-writer, and I was still pretending to be clueless. Bird was off to Winterhold for the next week, and I had no girlfriends to whine to about my annoying bodily discomforts – Marcurio did _not_  count. Bird was taking a letter up to Brelyna for me, and I hoped she'd be able to write back before Bird left Winterhold. At least Wuunferth was due back soon.

As I headed down the steps to the kitchen, I smelled something cooking. Something sweet. Something warm. It smelled like cinnamon rolls.

And its baker was Yrsarald.

I let out a tiny whine, and the man turned around quickly, a surprised look soon turning quickly into a smile. "Good morning, Deborah. Hunger woke you up early, too?"

 _Yeah, something like that_. "Yes. I want to... try to cook something. From my world." I sniffed the air. "What are you cooking?"

" _Bakig_. I'm  _bakig_   _fatekamathiren_."

I stared at the man, clueless as to what he had just said. I assumed he said he was baking, but I was still sleepy and couldn't drink my favorite wake-up tea, not for the next five and a half months. "What is 'fahhh tehhhka maaatheeren'? Something... men?"

Yrsarald chuckled and motioned for me to take a look at the oven. " _Fateka_. It means... to be without. Money, food..."

 _Fateka._ Poor. I looked inside the oven and saw little crudely-shaped crescents of dough. I was wrong before – the baking didn't smell like cinnamon rolls, it smelled like funnel cakes, or beignets.

A hand landed on my lower back and I jumped. "It's time," Yrsarald said.

My breath caught momentarily. "What?" I stood upright and looked at him.

"They're ready." Yrsarald gently nudged me aside, grabbed thick, padded oven cloths, and pulled out the metal tray wielding hot pastry goodness. "What did you want to try to cook?" he asked as he laid the hot tray down on a cooling rack.

I sat on the bench by the dining table, white-knuckle-gripping the edges. "Nothing I want to eat right now exists here."

"Like what?"

My fingernails dug into the wood. "It is called  _chocolate_. It grows from a plant that does not exist here, so, the foods made with it do not, cannot exist here."

"Oh." Yrsarald sat down on the bench opposite me. "What does it taste like?"

I frowned. To me, and those in my world, chocolate was a basic ingredient that couldn't really be broken down to a lower level of description. "I can't say. It is like asking someone what salt tastes like. It tastes salty." Yrsarald gave a small smile as he watched me fidget from frustration. I contemplated describing chocolate a little longer, until it finally hit me. I laughed. "Ehh..."

"Hmm?"

"Well,  _chocolate_ , it...," I stared at the man's hands, not daring to look him in the eye. "It tastes like how sex feels."

Yrsarald's hands stilled. I willed myself to look up. The man looked shocked, but then he burst into a fit of laughter.

"What?" I asked, watching him laugh. "It is not a joke. That is how people describe it. Women often need it..."

Yrsarald looked up again, red-faced and grinning. His laughter subsided. "Alright, I believe you. That is very... strange, though."

I jittered up and down on the bench for a few moments, thinking about what I wanted to try to make. " _Pizza_ ," I finally said.

"'Peet-zah'?"

"I need to make a… flat bread. I need cheese, salt... leeks...," my fingers drummed the table as I thought of the words for the other ingredients I could use that existed here. "Tomatoes, garlic, and... is there any food here that is like... meat made to look like a round thing?"

"A round thing?"

"Yes, it looks like a- ehh, nevermind. I can make it with chicken. And..." I stood from the bench and looked over the dried spices in jars displayed on racks along the kitchen wall. "I will smell these until I find what is similar."

"Wait, have some breakfast, first," Yrsarald said, standing to grab the pastry tray.

I couldn't say no to a man wielding pastries.

. . . . . .

The flatbread pizza ended up being not that bad, considering I had never made pizza in my entire life. Yrsarald had prepped the sliced chicken and the flat bread as I prepped the sauce. Making the tomato sauce was the most difficult. I smelled the spices until I found something that smelled like basil or oregano and set out to do what I did best in the kitchen – make do with as few ingredients as possible. I was by default a minimalist cook, which ended up being a blessing, at the moment.

I watched Yrsarald as he ate the pizza. Sauce stained his scraggly facial hair as he made familiar sounds of culinary satisfaction. "We should have Ulfric try this," he said. "It's fabulous."  _Frab_  was the word Yrsarald used to describe the pizza.

Sifnar, who had come to ready breakfast for the palace, grumbled something under his breath.

"What else can you make from your world?" Yrsarald asked.

I shook my head. "Not many foods. Many things are made already when we buy them, and we just... warm them before eating."

Yrsarald stared for a moment while he cleaned his beard of sauce. "Tell me more of your world."

I froze, frowned, and then stared at the last square of pizza. "What do you want to know?" I asked, quietly.

"No, not like that," Yrsarald said. "Not like Ulfric." He slid the plate with the remaining pizza across the table to me. "Tell me about your life there. Your family, job, cities... You must miss it, your world. I know that this world has scared you..."

I couldn't help but laugh. "I have never been more scared."

Yrsarald sighed. "I am sorry for you." His smile was warm. "Would talking about your home make you feel better?"

"Am I not keeping you from your job?"

He shook his head. "Things have been calm, lately. When Galmar returns I will be busy, but, not now."

I gazed at the man for a moment. "Not here. We will let Sifnar work."

"Finally," the cook grumbled.

I snatched the last square of pizza and gobbled it down before we left the kitchen.

Upstairs in Yrsarald's room, we sat facing one another in his big, comfy chairs. He offered to light his small hearth fire, but I was already warm enough, sitting near him, a portable radiator. He poured us some honey water and we picked up our conversation where we left it. "Where should I begin?" I asked. I curled my legs under my body and settled into the big chair.

"Wherever you like," Yrsarald answered. "Your speech is much improved, by the way."

"Heh, yes. If it was not after almost two years I would be very sad." I smiled and sipped my water, wondering what to talk about first. "I miss my sister and mother," I said. "And my dog."

"What are their names?"

I looked up at Yrsarald, wondering why he would care about that, but he did; I could see that he did. "Anna, my mother, and Rachel, my sister. My dog's name is Sam."

"You do not miss your father?"

I stared at my water cup. "He died many years ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry. What was his name?"

"Jake." I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "What about your family?"

Yrsarald squirmed. "They are no longer living."

"Oh…. Now it is me who is sorry…. Was it the war?"

He slowly shook his head. "My sister, yes, but my parents died several winters ago, I learned."

I frowned. "Their names?"

"Jora, my sister. Hrothvi, my mother. Geirald, my father."

I watched Yrsarald's expression, and wondered if the story he wrote about the bear, with the bear's sister being killed by a hunter, was about him and his own sister. I had to contain my question. "And… your family name, what does it mean?"

"Oh, Thrusagot is not my family name. It was a name given to me during the war. My family name is Geiraldsen. Is yours… Dzayksen?"

I smiled. Yrsarald had trouble pronouncing the English "J", being unfamiliar with the sound. "No. In my land, family names do not work that way. In some lands, it does, but not mine." I sipped my water. "My family name just means 'red' in your language. What does your war-name mean?"

He shrugged. "Just  _Thrusa_ -Pierced," he answered.

I shook my head. "Pierced? What is 'thrusa'?"

Yrsarald held up three fingers, and then one. "Once," two fingers, "twice," three fingers, " _thrusa._ "

Thrice. "Thrice-Pierced. Were you injured?"

Yrsarald nodded. "But a mage healed me."

I opened my mouth to ask what mages were doing in the army, but was halted by my own thoughts.  _A healer healed me_ , one of the notes I had received said.  _A healer healed me, and I healed a healer._  I felt a sudden wave of annoyance. "A healer, hmm?"

"Yes. I would not be alive today if that battlemage did not know healing magic."

I stared at the man as I screamed internally. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell Yrsarald that I knew everything, but I didn't. I had promised Bird that I wouldn't.

"What does Deborah mean? My parent dreamed I would be a warrior, and named me in the old language. It means 'furious protector'."

I smiled. "Your name is very… you." I watched the man blush, and quickly moved on. "My name just means… ehh… the bug that makes honey."

" _Emm?_ " he asked.

"Ehh, if that is the black and yellow bug that makes honey, then, yes."

"It is.  _Emm_." Yrsarald gazed at me a moment. "I would say your name fits you well, but you are more like what the  _emm_  makes. The honey."

Now it was my turn to blush. And then I laughed while sipping my honey water, which was essentially water and bee vomit. I was bee vomit.

"What is funny?" Yrsarald asked.

I shook my head. "Nothing, nothing. I…." I froze in my chair after the epiphany hit me. "Oh…," I said, staring at the curved right arm of Yrsarald's chair.

"Oh?"

I locked my gaze onto Yrsarald's. "My… name…. It…."

"What?"

I couldn't believe it. I had long forgotten about the origin of my given name; it had never mattered. "Deborah. The name… became common after one woman in my world… she…. Legends say that she helped win a war for her people. She was... a…," I thought about the correct words. "She was very close to her god." My hand lifted to cover my mouth, an instinctive reaction to shock.

"What? What is the matter?"

"Yrsarald, I… I am…." It was time to tell him. If Yrsarald was indeed the person sending me all of those letters and gifts, the person trying to court me, he should know exactly who and what I was. In addition to being pregnant by another man, I might just extinguish whatever desire he had for me. Better now than later. "I have been… named by Meridia as her champion."

Yrsarald stared. "Her Champion? Meridia…."

I nodded. "Yes."

"When did this happen?"

I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. "One year ago."

The man before me tensed. "While you were here?"

I nodded.

He stared again. "You said nothing."

"I told only Wuunferth… but now my friends and instructors at the college know, because… things happened, there."

"What happened?" Yrsarald leaned forward.

I told my friend about "the incident" at the college, about Hermaeus Mora, and how I haven't had any dreams or interactions with Daedra or gods or anything since then. The entire time, Yrsarald's face remained calm, concentrated, and not nearly as overwhelmed as Stenvar had appeared.

"So," Yrsarald began, "what does Meridia ask of you?"

I shook my head. "Nothing, yet. But, I have a feeling it will have something to do with necromancers… and the undead."

"Undead…," he repeated.

I nodded. "I believe so, yes."

"You hate the undead," he said.

"I do."

"Meridia hates the undead."

"She does." I gazed at the man a moment. "You know about her?"

"I do…," Yrsarald said. "Some things. Nobody knows much." He narrowed his eyes at me. "She spoke to you, this Daedra Lord?"

"Yes. Twice. I think, perhaps… she is protecting me, but, letting me live my life, right now. She will likely come back for me…. But for now I am at peace with no dream-visits from her." I untucked my legs from underneath my body and sat normally in the chair. "She said that… Arkay saw my tattoos."

"Your tattoos…."

"The strange thing about my tattoos is what they mean. They are all old, from long-dead people and their…  _tholeten_ …," I repeated the word Stenvar had used that likely meant "artifacts". I poured myself more honey water. "One is a snake, eating its own tail. It means the end and the beginning in a circle, the same, unending. Meridia said she wanted me because I respect life and death. This is true, I suppose… because I do not like the undead. But now, now that I am being left alone, I think the gods realized that they made a mistake with me. I am no one. I hope they have found someone better." I took a sip of water, and suddenly remembered to tell Yrsarald about what Savos thought I was. "Except…."

Yrsarald waited patiently.

"The Arch-Made at the college, he… he thinks I am something called a Child of Akatosh."

Yrsarald sat back in his chair. "What is that?"

"Someone who is born to be a mage, he says."

"Interesting." Yrsarald brushed his bushy beard with his hand. "So the gods really  _did_  send for you…."

I frowned. "Maybe. Maybe it is just a coincidence. Maybe I will never hear from any gods again and I can live in Skyrim in peace."

Silence.

"Do you wish to return to your world?" Yrsarald asked me.

I frowned, thinking about my answer. "Sometimes," I spoke the truth. "I miss many things. I miss the food, the… way we could bathe and…. Everything was more simple, there. Everything that exists here is only a story, there. No undead, no dragons…. Everything here is scary, and real. I fought  _draugren_  at a ruin with other mages, and I still feel like… my skin has bugs crawling on it."

"You fought  _draugren_?"

"Yes. Yes. And I do not want to fight them again. They are disgusting. Scary. If I was alone and more than one of them came at me..." I shook my head, not able to finish the sentence. I looked up at Yrsarald; he appeared uncomfortable. "Have you fought  _draugren_?" I asked him.

"No, I have not."

"You are fortunate." I hugged my robed body and looked at my feet. "If those are what I have to fight in the future, I am terrified. I cannot do this. I especially cannot do this alone."

"You do not have to be alone."

I heard the softness in Yrsarald's tone and looked up. "You have a job, here," I said to him.

"That is not what I meant, Deborah."

His gaze was uncomfortably locked onto me, my eyes, and I realized Marcurio was right. Every word that Yrsarald did not say was written in his gaze. I couldn't describe it; I could only feel it. And what the man's gaze felt like was a burning, painful desire that could not be, or has not been relieved.

I stood, unable to look at the man any longer. I didn't make to leave his room, but merely walked, slowly, over to a window, still hugging my body defensively. I stared at the pine trees in the distance. "I'm with child," I blurted, thinking for some reason it would distance myself from Yrsarald, weaken his desire to tell me what I thought he wanted to tell me.

I heard him stand. "I know," he said, again quiet.

That got my attention. I turned around. "How? I am not big, yet."

"There were signs," he said. "I guessed correctly." Yrsarald and I stood awkwardly far away from one another. "Have you married?" he asked me.

"No, Yrsarald, I have not married. I am merely with child. And when this child is born, Marcurio and Bird will adopt it."

"Those friends of yours?"

" _Yes_ , those  _friends_  of mine."

"The… they are the… fathers."

I took a step closer to Yrsarald, and then another, advancing out of defense of both myself and of my friends. "Another incident with a Daedra, unfortunately. We drank  _Smolakap's_  ale, and now I am with child. Their child. I do not know why you are so… interested."

"I can't be interested in your life?"

"That is not what I meant." I was beginning to get angry.

"Then what did you mean to say?"

"What did  _you_  mean to say!?" I nearly shouted.

Yrsarald stood his ground. "When?"

"Just now!" My arms flew up in frustration. "You said I did not have to be alone. What did you mean to say!?"

I watched as Yrsarald's ears turned red and his face paled before turning the same ruddy color.

"Did you put the bear on my bed?" I asked accidentally-on-purpose.

Yrsarald now hugged his own body. "Yes. It was mine, from my childhood…."

For whatever reason, tears began to form in my eyes and I had to look away. "Have you…." I concentrated my vision on the tip of a single pine tree outside. "Have you given me other things?"

I heard the man take several steps, but I didn't know he was taking them towards me until he spoke. "Yes."

Silence.

I heard the faint sound of the wind outside the thin windows.

I began to tremble. I trembled out of anger, frustration, confusion, and every other emotion I had felt over the last year. "Six months," I managed to say.

"Six months?"

"Six months!" I said, spinning around to face Yrsarald. "Six months, I was certain, so certain that I knew who was sending me the… things… and the letters. Six months!" With my last words I held up six fingers and shoved them into Yrsarald's face. "When I found that I was wrong, that I…." I took a deep breath, exhaled, and continued. "I was broken, Yrsarald. Broken. Confused and angry and I  _hated_  Bird for not telling me! I still hate him!" I turned away from the man, unable to look at him. "An entire year.  _YEAR!_ " I made some sort of sound, something between a sob and a scream and a growl. I took several deep breaths before continuing. "I… fell in love with the letter-writer. Perhaps that is because in the beginning I… I thought I knew who it was. I thought he loved me…."

"Stenvar Grey-Mane," Yrsarald guessed. I wondered how he knew.

I deliberated whether or not to admit that Yrsarald was right. In the end, I opted for honesty. "Yes."

I heard Yrsarald walk further away from me. "You and he were… together…."

 _Yes. No. I don't know._  "No. We were friends. Good friends."  _Very good friends._

"You… love him?" he asked.

I didn't know what my honest answer was. "I don't know, Yrsarald. He is a friend, and I love him as a friend. He loves me as a friend, I think. We are friends." That was the truth – anything else would have been an uncertainty. "I always thought of  _you_  as a friend…. Before, you, Stenvar and Wuunferth were the only friends I had, at least in Windhelm."

Silence. I felt the man's unnatural heat behind me and knew he stood near. When I mustered enough strength to face Yrsarald again, I found him staring at me, frozen, lips sealed shut, arms crossed over his torso. His eyes were glistening.

I lowered my voice to a near-whisper. "Why did you not just… sign your name? Why? Would it have been so bad? Just to tell me?"

The man was a statue until, slowly, his head moved from side to side. "You do not understand."

"Tell. Me _._ " I stepped up to him, pleading.

Yrsarald backed away, shaking his head. "I cannot."

" _Why_  not? I have told you about  _me!_ " I followed him as he tried to put distance between us. "Yrsarald, it has been one year of these letters and gifts. Tell me. Just tell me. I am…," I growled in frustration, "I do not know the word! Just tell me  _why_ , Yrsarald!"

"Because you could not love someone like me!" He had quickly approached and shouted the words directly into my face. I was not used to such ferocity from the gentle giant, and stood, stunned, gripping the back of one of the large, cushy chairs for balance and, potentially, a shield. The man's body relaxed, and he hung his head in shame, or embarrassment, or something else altogether. "I have…." He walked over to the chair I had been sitting in and collapsed onto it. "I have loved you since you ate pie in my bed."

I tried to speak, but failed. I had no idea what to say.

Yrsarald wiped a hand down his face, and continued. "I wanted you to stay, to not go to the College… but I knew I was being  _marila_. I knew you had to go. I wanted to tell you… but you were always so terrified of things not from your world, I could not. I could not tell you that I…." Yrsarald planted his face into his cupped palms; his hands muffled a growl.

"Things… not from my world?"

Yrsarald nodded.

I carefully made my way to the other side of the chair I had been standing behind and sat down. I thought about what to say, what I could say to help Yrsarald tell me what was going on.  _What was not from my world?_ I wondered. I recalled the first letter I had received. "You… could not sleep?" I asked. Yrsarald shook his hand-covered head. "Did sending me those… necessary things help you sleep?" Yrsarald nodded, still hiding his face. "Then, thank you. They were very much needed."

Yrsarald's face emerged from his small shield and he wiped tears away from his cheeks. "You're welcome." He didn't look at me, but rather hunched forward, balanced his elbows on his thighs, and stared at his hands.

"You drew the sketches?" I asked.

The man nodded.

"They were very good."

Yrsarald sat back, but still did not look at me. He pretended to inspect the arm of the chair. "I drew them while I was living in Dawnstar…."

"You grew up there, didn't you?" I asked, recalling how his accent was similar to Bird's.

He nodded.

I thought about the rest of Yrsarald's letters and gifts. "You were healed by that healer, during the war. What healer did you heal?"

Finally the man looked me in the eyes. "You."

I was confused. "You healed me? You're a healer?"

Yrsarald managed a broken smile, and answered, but looked away from me again while doing so. "No. I did not mean… with magic. But I like to think I made you feel better, sometimes…."

"You did," I answered truthfully, and was rewarded with eye contact again. I gave an encouraging smile. "I understand the note, now. I was confused by it, before. But, the story…." I lost the eye contact. "Your sister… Jora? She died, but, not from a hunter. In war, yes?"

He nodded.

"What does the rest of the story mean? You went away? Into the forest? Who is the princess?"

Yrsarald fidgeted in his chair before answering. "You know who the princess is…."

I lump formed inside my throat and threatened to choke me. "But, the rest of the story… it is about you? What does it mean?"

Yrsarald shook his head.

I sighed. "You said… you… could not sleep without me. Wanted to die. You wanted to know how to… get into my heart…." I was trembling again, though I was not entirely sure why. I managed to stand and walk the two steps that separated the two chairs. I leaned forward and took Yrsarald's fuzzy, ruddy and wet face between my palms and forced him to look up at me. "You want to know how? Tell me. Tell me your story, Yrsarald. Tell me why you have kept this… kept  _you_  secret from me for so long."

The man responded by grasping my wrists and removing my hands from his face. "Sit down," he ordered. I obeyed. Yrsarald stood, walked around for a while, and then stilled behind the chair he had been sitting in, just as I had. He was protecting himself. He looked me in the eyes for a good long while before speaking again. "I… am… that bear. In the story. My war-name, as you called it… I received that name after being pierced by three ice spears sent by both elves and humans alike after I… changed."

"Changed?"

Yrsarald inhaled sharply, gripped the tall back of the chair, ducked his head down a bit, and exhaled before elaborating. He looked across the space at me again and said, quietly, "I am a  _varbjorn_."

"A… what?" I was disappointed that I didn't understand Yrsarald's big reveal.

Yrsarald groaned and pounded the rim of the chair back once with his fist before trying again. "I am a man… who… can change into a man-bear. Not a bear, a man-bear. A monster. I am  _a monster_ , and I doubt you have… things like me in your world.  _That_  is why I could not tell you, alright? Because I am a monster. There, I've told you." The man looked away from me and gripped the chair back so tight I thought he might break it.

I tried to make sense of Yrsarald's spurted confession.  _A man who can change into a man-bear. Not a bear, a man-bear._   _Werebear_. "Oh," was all I said.

"Yes, do you see, now?" Yrsarald turned around and faced away from me, hands gripping the sides of his leather-clad torso.

"Bears…," I said. "There are bears everywhere, here. Are all Stormcloaks like you?"

"No, no no no," the man shook his head quickly and turned back to face me. "The Bear of Eastmarch has nothing to do with that…. It is just me. Just me in all of Skyrim, for all I know. Just me…." I could see now that his grip on his own uniform was so tight that his knuckles were whitened.

I sat in silence a moment, digesting.  _Werebears. Man-bears_. "Wolf-men exist, too, I suppose?"

The man nodded. "Yes. And other animal-people, too."

"Do… undead people that drink blood exist here?"

"Yes."

My stomach decided to tie itself into a knot. "Do… the others know about you? Ulfric? Galmar?"

Yrsarald nodded, looking away again. "They were there, when it happened."

"When what happened?"

As I understood it, both Yrsarald and his older sister were in the Imperial army, fighting against the elves in the Great War. His sister Jora was beheaded by an elf right in front of his eyes, and his "beast" as I thought he explained it became out of control. Galmar, his commander at the time, knew about Yrsarald and Jora, but neither of them was seen as a threat, nor a liability. But when Yrsarald saw his sister die, he lost control over everything, both his human emotions and his animal instinct. He shifted into what he called a man-bear monster, shredding his uniform in the process, and in a rage killed both elves and humans in vengeance for his sister's death. On both sides, battlemages were the only ones that managed to bring Yrsarald down and stop his attack. Pierced through his shoulder, thigh and torso, the man only survived because the ice spears briefly froze his body, preventing major blood loss. After the attack he instinctively shifted back to his human form, which helped somewhat in the healing process. His unnaturally high body temperature quickly melted the ice, however, and a sympathetic human battlemage healed what the shifting had not. Galmar, Ulfric, the battlemage and others helped drag Yrsarald to safety, and the battle continued without him. Ashamed and still violently angry, Yrsarald grabbed whatever clothing he could find and ran off into the wilderness. He found a cave where he remained for three years, unwilling to even attempt to fight for the empire for fear of killing more on his own side again. He hunted and gathered food to survive, and began to drink a tea made from a root that was supposed to repel werebears. The tea suppressed the urge to shift, and after much praying to the gods of his comrades, mainly Talos and Shor, he later rejoined the army.

The war ended and Yrsarald joined up with Ulfric's small troop, but was not arrested in the city of Markarth when Ulfric was captured by the Thalmor. He was however severely injured during the battle when his left leg was crushed under a falling building stone. To save his leg, he forced himself to briefly shift into his beast form. Though he was healed somewhat when he shifted, the leg was never the same again and he was unable to serve in the army as an active soldier. He moved to Windhelm to where Ulfric later returned after his release, and soon after, the Stormcloak Rebellion began. Yrsarald offered his services as an advisor to Ulfric. He wouldn't take no for an answer after learning about Ulfric's first imprisonment and torture during Yrsarald's self-exile. Yrsarald felt partially responsible, as it was the battle where he was injured with ice spears that Ulfric was first captured by the Thalmor.

"Ulfric is… as a brother to me. War is our mother."

I watched, waiting to be sure Yrsarald was finished with his story. "So…," I began, tentative, "your parents, and sister… were they…  _varbjornen_ , too?"

Yrsarald nodded. "Yes."

"And you are the only… one of you here in Skyrim?"

"That I'm aware, yes.  _Varbjornen_ are… not very social. We protect our families, parents and children, but that is it. The rest of my kind, as far as I know, are on Solstheim, an island not far from here. They live in the north, there, where it's cold. You have… already noticed how warm I am. We are all like this, which is why we live in cold places. We keep to our own families, except for every ten years when there is a big gathering in the very far north on the island, so that we can… find  _felagen_ , start our own families."

"Find… 'fel—'?"

" _Felagen_ …. Husbands or wives, but… a term used more often for animals."

Mates. "Have you ever had… a…  _felag_?"

Yrsarald shook his head. "I never went to a gathering. I left Solstheim with my sister when she was sixteen, before she was  _felagatur_. We ran away, settled in Dawnstar. Neither of us wanted to be what we were. We didn't want to change into monsters. But we were always both so strong, good at fighting. When I was thirteen, the war began, and my sister, she was seventeen – she wanted to join the Imperial army. So, I joined, too, to protect her. Even younger than her I was stronger…. We trained, and then joined the fight. That's when I met Ulfric, when he was seventeen and I was fourteen."

"How old are you now?"

"Forty-three, but the wind up north has made me look older." Yrsarald gazed at me. "How old are you?"

"Thirty." I gazed at Yrsarald. "You don't look older than your age."

"You look younger than thirty," he countered.

"I do not," I blushed.

"For Skyrim, you look young. Less time in the cold, I suppose."

I nodded. I understood that. Ranchers in Wyoming, for instance, tended to be wind-worn and hardy individuals, much like Stenvar.  _I must look like a pampered princess to the women of Skyrim_ , I mused. "So… you are… a bear-man."

" _Varbjorn._ It is the old way of saying the same thing."

"'Varbjorn'," I repeated.  _Werebears. Werebears, werewolves, were-things_ …. I sat silent for a few moments. "Did you ever marry?" I asked out of curiosity, wondering if instead of mating another werebear he opted for a human.

"No," he answered. "Have you?"

"Yes, but it ended long ago."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not."

Silence.

"No children?" I asked him. He shook his head. I looked away and wrapped my arms around my abdomen.

"I can smell it," he muttered.

"Smell… what?"

"Bears, and werebears, we can smell things better than any animal. Better than dogs. I can… smell… feelings. I can smell your fear and… other things. I could smell that the courier, the blond one… Bird? He and you…." Yrsarald stopped talking, briefly. "How is it that he is married to that other man, and yet you and he are having a child?"

My jaw might as well have dropped to the floor. Yrsarald must have smelled my confusion and shock, because I was immensely confused and in shock. "You… smelled…. Wait…. Bird is the father? The blond one?"

"Yes, the courier. I saw him, once, a while back…. And what do you mean? You don't know who the father is?"

"No, I told you. We were drunk."

"Who was drunk?"

"All of us. Me, Bird and Marcurio.  _Ugh…,_ " I rubbed my forehead in frustration. "They… desired a baby. I… well, I drunkenly agreed. I didn't know who the father was because all three of us…." I didn't finish the sentence.

"So… you're… you've created a child with your friends, to give it to them?"

"Yes, that is our decision."

"And that is why you are here, now? You are not yet graduated?"

"Correct."

Silence.

"That is very kind of you," he said, "to let them adopt the baby. Will you tell them who the father is?"

"I… well, I don't know. I suppose if it is Bird's, it will be blond, since I was blonde as a child." I bit my lip. Talking of children piqued my curiosity about Yrsarald's superhuman status. "What would happen if you had a baby with someone not like you? Would they be… like you?"

"I don't know. I hope not."

I bit my lip again. "Do you not… change… anymore?"

"Once a year, I go back to that cave and force myself to change, on the same day that my sister died."

"Why do you say 'force'?"

"Because I do not want to change; I have to, it is in my blood. Thankfully, as I get older, changing becomes more difficult, and less of an urge. I hope one day I just cannot do it, and won't feel the need to, either."

I bit my lip a third time. "Can I see you change?"

Yrsarald's face contorted. "Why would you want that?"

I squirmed in my chair and tugged at my robe's belt. "I am curious.  _That_ is in  _my_ blood. In my world, that was my job… sort of. I was paid to be curious, ask questions. I studied things. This is no different…. I would like to see it, to know what it is like."

Yrsarald stared blankly at me for a moment. "Are you not scared?"

" _Terrified_ …," I stressed. "But, Yrsarald, I trust you. You had been so kind to me before…. And though I am still…  _angry_  with you for not telling me…." I sighed. "I trust you. I want to see it. I  _need_  to see it. Please, show me."

"You are… sure…?"

"Yes. As long as you can promise I will not have to defend myself… do it."

Slowly, Yrsarald stood from his chair, picked it up, and moved it to the side, leaving a space between me and the door. He then stood still, looking at me, thinking. "You cannot scream," he finally said. "Not at all, not while I change, or after. Do you understand? Everything should be fine, but I do not want to take risks. I will sense your fear, and I will change back if it becomes too  _akafa_  for you. And… do not talk while I change. Be silent."

"Alright."

"Promise me, just… be silent, don't scream, sit still and… wait."

"I promise."

Yrsarald sighed, gazed at me a moment, and then proceeded to disrobe, removing his bear-paw cloak first, followed by his gauntlets, tunic, and boots. When he began to work on his leather trousers, I turned away.

"Don't," I heard him say.

Without looking, I asked, "Don't what?"

"Don't look away. You will see everything, anyway, when I am changed. That might scare you too, but, don't worry."

"I… ehh, alright…." I turned back to face Yrsarald, who had since stripped down to his loincloth. I knew I was blushing. If I wasn't so utterly terrified, I would have fully registered the spectacular form in front of me. Yrsarald was truly enormous, every inch of him; his thighs were like tree trunks with fuzzy red fur on them. Enormous, enormous, enormous – there was no other word to describe him. The second he untucked his loincloth, my breath caught, and I suppressed a strange gulping sound that I would have made were my mouth open. My eyes frantically darted up to meet his.  _No, I was not staring at your beautiful manliness_. I didn't have long to feel guilty, as within seconds of being naked, Yrsarald closed his eyes, lowered his head, took a deep breath, and became very still.

I watched, and waited, doing my best to keep my eyes north of his navel. My eyes were on his shoulders when I noticed his muscles beginning to quiver. And then he slowly became even hairier than he already was, and hunched over, like an old man. My eyes drifted down his arm, and I saw his fingernails turn into extraordinary claws as long as my own hand. He grunted in pain. His beard and hair joined the rest of his body in a coat of light brown-red fur. When Yrsarald fell to all fours, I held my breath. I watched as his face began to morph into something unrecognizable. His claws gripped the wooden floor, and his groans and grunts became a muted roar. His teeth grew in size, turning his mouth into a snout, and his canines increased to at least five times their human size. His entire body was shaking, trembling with the pain that came along with what I assumed to be rapid bone reformation, the natural process bones went through so long as the animal was alive. Not just his bones reformed, though. The entire suite of bodily cells must have mutated or been replaced by new ones. His face was not a human face, nor the face of a bear. It was something altogether terrifying, the spawn of a demon and a rabid grizzly.

The man that was once Yrsarald stood on all fours before me, slowly calming his breathing as his body stilled. And then he rose to his hind feet. Grizzly bears stood at something like ten feet – Yrsarald in his bearish form came close to that. And he wasn't joking when he said I would see everything when he shifted – I could see his genitalia clearly, and it was not exactly a pleasant sight, the bearish version of them. My heart began to pound when Yrsarald dropped to all fours again and looked me in the eyes. His eyes were glowing a pale yellow. When he slowly walked toward me, still on all fours, I choked on my own breath, and my lungs stopped working. Yrsarald froze. He had sensed my unease. In the most guttural, gravelly voice imaginable, Yrsarald said, "Breathe."

I forced myself to inhale. My heart was still pounding when Yrsarald advanced further toward me, closing in the already-small space that was left between us when he shifted. He kept his glowing eyes on me at all times, locked onto my gaze, unwavering. When he had closed the gap between us entirely, he laid his massive bearish head down onto my lap, and waited, peering up at me like a submissive dog. I felt a low vibration that only lasted a moment. Not so gently, Yrsarald butted his head against my left arm. Once, twice, and waited a moment before doing it a third time. I thought I understood, and I laid my left hand on his furry head, between his ears, and gave him a scratch. At that, Yrsarald chuffed, something I saw as a good sign. My understanding was confirmed by a lick on my right forearm, and a play nip. I recalled my dog Sam did the exact same thing; he was a play-nipper. Yrsarald's nip didn't hurt at all. He then moved forward, and soon pressed the top of his head to the underside of my chin.

I could then hear my heartbeat in my ears. An invisible hand wrenched my diaphragm. I thought that I might vomit. Yrsarald must have noticed the onset of panic because he immediately backed away, slowly, always looking me in the eyes. When he bowed his head, I figured he was going to shift back, and I was right. The process appeared easier for him, and faster. The fur resorbed and became his natural body hair, which was still quite dense. His body quivered and bones reformed into their human shapes. His claws shrunk back into nails that still dug into the floor in pain. When the process was complete, Yrsarald was panting from exhaustion. His hair had become disheveled and one of his gold beads was missing. He was covered in sweat, and remained on all fours for some time.

I could feel the symptoms of a panic attack increasing in intensity. I felt lightheaded and nauseated. I could barely breathe.

I had to get out of there.

Eventually I found the wherewithal to stand, walk around the recovering Yrsarald, and then back away, slowly, towards the door.

"Deborah…," the weary man breathed my name.

I opened his bedroom door as quietly as I could, and then left, closing the door not so quietly behind me.

Back in my own room, door locked, I let the panic attack take over. I lost my breakfast, and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, how is everyone feeling, now?...  
> This is a lot to digest, I know.  
> Too much.  
> Too much….  
> Yrsarald is a werebear. He is in love with Deborah. He knows she's pregnant.  
> Deborah thought she could handle all of this, but couldn't. Panic attacks are a bitch.  
> How do you think her bolting will affect how Yrsarald feels?


	46. A Bear and His Cave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The feels for the chapter can be felt in Joy Williams "I'm Gonna Break Your Heart (Lark Remix)", Matthew Mayfield "I Don't Know You At All", Doe Eye "I Hate You", and Erin McCarley "Lovesick Mistake" – take your pick for depressing feels.

I knew the moment that I slammed the door closed to Yrsarald's room that I had made an irreparable mistake, but I couldn't face him. I couldn't let him watch me suffer from yet another panic attack, particularly one brought on by him. I was hyperventilating. The knot in my stomach intensified until the hand that gripped my insides squeezed hard enough to cause me to vomit on the wooden floor. I stumbled to my bed, half-blind from tears, and collapsed onto the mattress. I pulled the covers on top of me, wrapping my fingers around them and squeezing until my hands formed fists. I was writhing in emotional anguish.

 _What have I done!?_ I screamed internally. My right hand flailed out and came into contact with the fur blanket that topped the sheets and cloth bedcover. The sensation of touching fur made me jump and my breath caught – for the briefest of moments, I had hoped that Yrsarald had come into my room and was sitting next to me on my bed in his bear-cloak uniform. The realization that the fur I had touched was just a blanket brought on more tears, and I curled into myself, hugging the fur to my body. The hyperventilating slowly calmed and faded into sobbing, wailing breaths.

I must have cried on and off for an hour or more, wetting rag after rag with my tears and snot. As I washed my face with the cold water of the washbasin, I caught my wavering reflection. "What have I done?" I asked my unsteady visage. I quickly dried my face and ran out of my room, down the hall to Yrsarald's bedroom door. With a trembling hand I gave three soft knocks on the wood.

"Y-Yrsarald?" I called, voice broken from phlegm and nerves. I knocked again, five times. "Yrsa, I'm sorry. Can I come in?"

Silence. I let out a sob but quickly contained what would have become yet another round of uncontrollable crying. I cleared my throat, and pressed down on the door handle. The door opened, and I fully expected to see the man sitting or kneeling or lying down somewhere, anywhere, recovering from the betrayal of trust that he had put in me.

Yrsarald was not in his bedroom. His uniform was on the floor where he had left it, though. I looked around the room. Cupboard and wardrobe doors were wide open. Clothes and shoes and apples were scattered across part of the floor. Either Yrsarald had thrown around his belongings in an excusable fit of rage, or he had grabbed articles of clothing and some food, and left.

I ran out of his bedroom and to the stairwell. "Yrsarald!?" I cried, running downstairs toward the map room. No one was there. "Yrsarald!" I ran into the main hall.

"He's gone," boomed a deep voice from behind me. I spun around to see Ulfric, posed on his throne like the statue The Thinker.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. "Gone?"

"Left a while ago," was all the Jarl said, looking away from me and slumping back into his oversized stone chair.

"Where?" I asked him, walking closer.

The Jarl looked down at dead space in front of him before answering. "What difference does it make to you?"

His words were a fist to the gullet. Ulfric knew what happened between Yrsarald and me; I wondered what else Ulfric knew. The invisible hand was inside me again, twisting, squeezing. "Where, Ulfric? His cave? Dawnstar? Where!?"

Ulfric turned to me, surprised at something I said. He stood and descended his elevated throne, closing the gap between us quickly. I thought he was going to say something to me, but he continued walking into the map room. I followed him.

"He did tell you?" I asked him.

" _DON'T,"_  Ulfric turned and spat at me, "go looking for him. It is bad enough that my warfare advisor had to take leave because of…." His sentence trailed off and he stood facing me, looking down at me in disgust. He then approached, fast and menacing, putting his face close enough to mine to feel his breath. In a quiet, stern voice, he let me know exactly what he was thinking at that moment. "I keep you around for Wuunferth. For Helgen. For whatever knowledge you have that might be of use to me. You're intelligent; anyone can see that. So  _act_  like you are." Ulfric turned around again to leave, heading towards the stairwell to the upstairs hallway.

"I could find him, you know," I said to Ulfric's back. The Jarl turned. "With magic. I could find him."

Ulfric's rage soon faded into pain. He shook his head and said, "He wouldn't want you to."

I didn't follow Ulfric upstairs.

* * *

I sat in my bedroom, staring at the items on my desk. I had bought letter papers from a shop in town, and I had plenty of ink left from what Yrsarald had sent me almost a year ago. The only thing I didn't have was the ability to write properly in Norren. I had written notes before, but never full-length letters that spanned multiple pages and were full of honest and painful feelings.

" _Fuck_ ," I muttered in English.

I picked up a quill, dipped the tip in the inkpot, and wrote Yrsarald's name in the top left corner. And then I stared for some time at the paper, willing words to appear on their own. " _There has to be a spell for that…_ ," I again muttered in English. For now, without Wuunferth around to tell me whether or not there  _was_  a spell for that, I had to resort to writing in broken Norren. Halfway through writing the letter, I began to cry and shake, and my stomach contents threatened to erupt. But, despite a trembling hand, I managed to translate my agony into words, words that needed to be said to the man that I hurt three days ago.

_Yrsarald,_

_Please no to trash my letter. Please. Please to read my letter. I hurt if you no read my letter, and you no say to me if you read. Sorry, my write Norren is bad. Sorry. I is very sorry. My heart is hurt. My body is hurt. My soul is hurt. I understand you hurt when I no stay. I understand now, bad I no stay. I break trust with you. I is the monster. You no the monster. You be never the monster. You is very very kind. I is no kind. I is the monster. I hate me. I hate me big. I hate I no write Norren good. Bad, very bad. I is bad._

_After I leave you, I cry. I have fear. Big fear. All the fears. But no fear you. No you, but I fear … I no understand, but no fear you. I go to your room, but you go away. You go from me, and Ulfric say no, I to no go to you. But I desire to find you. I hurt to find you. I no breathe good. My body is hurt. Please, when you read my letter, to see me. To find me. To talk to me. I is your friend, and if I no your friend, I believe I die in my body. My heart die._

_Yrsarald, please. I no say the things to you, but I see you. I see you good. You is no monster. You is beautiful. You is beautiful friend and beautiful man. You is kind. I desire to say things to you. I desire more. I desire time. When you eat my food, I think things. Things new for you. I see you. I see you. Please, to talk to me when you home. I big bad mistake. You no mistake. I mistake. Leave you is mistake. I desire to talk to you. I desire to heal you. Please, to heal me again. If no more, alright to be friends. But I think more is good. I desire time. I desire time with you. Please to talk to me. Please. Please. Please. I very sorry. Please._

_I understand now, why you no write your name on the letters. I hurt to wait. I die to wait. When you see my letter you understand I write the letter. You understand my heart. You say to me, or you no say to me. Only you. I wait. I wait for you._

_Deborah_

Shaking and trying not to cry, I slid the unsealed letter, comprising six pieces of paper, under Yrsarald's now-locked bedroom door. Jorleif had locked it. I stared at the short space between the stone and the wood.  _Yes. Yes. This was the right decision._

I returned to my bedroom, crawled into my bed, and thought of nothing else for the remainder of the day.

* * *

"He'll come back. He has to; it's his job to be in the palace." Bird had finally returned from Winterhold, bearing a letter from Brelyna which I intended to read later. Bird and Marcurio and I all had dinner at their house that evening. Yrsarald had been missing from the palace for six days.

"Yes, Bird, he will come back. But what will he say when he does?" I chewed my bite of venison meat pie, laden with melted goat cheese, just for me. "Maybe he will not say anything to me. Maybe I have killed our friendship."

"I don't think you can kill a friendship just by getting nervous," Marcurio said.

"I told you, Marc, it is more than being nervous. He said very… important and… private things to me. Things he wanted and needed me to know about him. And before that, he told me he loved me, and I said nothing. I asked him about the letters, and… how he felt, but I said nothing about how I felt about him. I said nothing, Marc. How would you feel if you told Bird you love him and then he says 'your sketches were good'? I am a monster."

"You are not a monster, Deb." Marcurio kept saying the words to me, but I didn't believe him.

"But, Deb,  _do_  you love him?" Bird asked.

I chewed my dinner and stared at nothing. "I don't know. I know I like him. I like him very much as a friend. He is so… good to me. He was always good to me. Always. I think… I could love him. I truly could. I just need to spend time with him. Maybe I will not love him that way, but I will not know until I have time with him."

"Then, I don't think it was so bad." Bird took a sip of his wine. "Yes, you could have said 'thank you, but this is very new and I need time to think', but as you told us, the things he said to you were heavy. Yes, he is hurting, but if he truly loves you, he will be back, and he will talk to you."

"I wrote that in the letter," I said. "I wrote I needed time. But, I think we could be more than just friends, with time. I said that."

"Good. That's good," Bird said before reaching for Marcurio's hand. "But, enough about Yrsarald. How are  _you two_  feeling?" Bird asked, gesturing toward my abdomen.

I smiled. "Good. Very good. Almost four months, now. Soon, maybe one month, we will feel the baby kick."

"Truly?" Marcurio grinned.

"Yes," I nodded. "Soon. I will tell you when it starts."

My friends smiled and shared a kiss. "Oh, Deborah," Bird later said, "we wanted to tell you about the birth  _hattiren_  we do here in Skyrim. We guessed it would be different from what you were familiar with."

"'Hattiren'?"

"Ehh, practices, things done traditionally," Bird answered.

 _Customs_. "What customs?" I asked.

"Well, because we will be the official parents, we will both cut the navel string after the baby is born." Bird squeezed Marcurio's hand, and continued. "And, also, you must not name the baby until seven days after it has been born."

"Wh— ehh, navel string?" I figured they meant umbilical cord, but I wanted to be certain.

"The string that connects mother and child, yes. We, Marc and I, cut it together, as we will be the official parents. Cutting the navel string means the person is responsible for the child, so, a parent."

"Oh. I understand," I said. "But, one week to name the child? Why?"

Bird shrugged. "It is just what is done. Some babies…," he frowned, "some babies just die. It happens. So we do not name them. Babies that live seven days usually live."

I nodded. "I understand. Alright, all of this is fine for me. But, can we think of names? Talk of names? Or do you not think of a name and then, after seven days, you just say the name?"

Marcurio laughed. "We have  _already_ thought of names. We have thought of names for years, now."

"Yes, we can talk of names," Bird continued, "but the child must not be given the name, called by the name, or spoken of by the name until the naming ritual. The ritual is also when we will be named the child's parents."

"Alright. I have heard of these… customs… from my world. They are not mine, but I know they exist. I will do as you wish." I smiled, and drank a big glass of goat's milk, which oddly enough I had been craving very much. "What names do you like?"

"Well…," Marcurio began, "we have thought of a long list of boy's names we like, but do not agree on many girl's names."

"What will his or her family name be?" I asked.

"Good-Heart," Bird said. "It is a combination of both of our family names."

"Good-Heart?" I asked. "What are your family names? I know Marc's is Liore. Which does that mean?"

"Liore means 'good' in the old Imperial language," Marcurio answered.

"And my family name is Winter-Heart," said Bird. "So, Good-Heart. What do you think?"

I smiled. "I like it, very much. So, the name must sound good with 'Good-Heart'."

"Yes," Bird nodded. "We have thought of some names we like. Alarik, Erik, Karl, Ulla, Else…."

"Bera, Bjarn, Gretta, Alen...," Marcurio continued the list.

"But we can't agree on girl's names," Bird admitted.

"Do you have to name the child a Nord name?" I asked.

"No, but we are in Skyrim," Marcurio shrugged. "We have thought of some Imperial names. Fortis, Stefano, Lucan, Caius, Viana, Una, Rona, Mila…."

"Those are all nice names," I said. "What about choosing a name that means something special? Like, 'first child', or, 'love', or, 'surprise!'"

We all had a good laugh at naming the child "Surprise", and then finished our dinner in relative silence. I thought about names, and how Yrsarald had said that he knew the child's father was Bird. Bird was a Nord, and was so blond that his hair was almost white. Marcurio's people's names were Italian- or Roman-like. I ran through my mind various Roman names that I knew, and what they meant, and then thought of the Imperial names Marcurio had mentioned. Stephano meant "crowned", I thought. Lucan meant "light", I knew. Fortis meant "strong". I would have to make some lists, and think about a good name to recommend to my friends.

I welcomed anything to distract me from the fact that Yrsarald was still not back at the palace, and I had no idea when he would return, nor did I know if he would ever speak to me again when he did return. I welcomed the project.

* * *

Yrsarald had been gone for a week and a half when Wuunferth finally returned. When I saw the old mage I hugged him so tightly I was suddenly worried I might have hurt the man, but he just chuckled.

"It's good to see you too, my dear," Wuunferth said while letting me hug him.

"Where were you?" I said as I let him go.

"At a Mage Council meeting in Whiterun." Wuunferth lowered his mage's robe hood, sat down, and took a sip from a water cup. " _You_  came up in conversation. Savos sent Mirabelle to represent him and the College."

"You talked about me?"

"Well, yes. How could we not? Savos is likely right about you."

"Did mages meet to talk about me?"

Wuunferth chuckled. "No, my dear. We met to talk about Saarthal, which you know about, of course."

I sat down across from Wuunferth. "What did you talk about? Was Elodie there? Did she tell you what happened?"

"Yes, Elodie Storm-Hawk was there. Yes, we talked about what happened. No, I cannot repeat what was said."

"Oh," I said, disappointed. "But she was well, yes? She is finally helping everyone to find what was taken from Saarthal?"

"Elodie is fine. She is doing very well for herself, considering what I learned happened at Saarthal. As for what was taken, do not worry yourself about that. Elodie and those helping her will be fine."

I half-frowned. "So, I cannot know what was taken?"

"Deborah, even I do not know exactly what was taken. If you need to know, you will be told by those who do know."

"Alright…."

"You, my dear, have enough to worry about. I hear congratulations are due."

"Oh, yes."

"When does the child arrive?"

"Five months from now."

"So, Sun's Dawn, then. A good time to birth a child. I was informed about your arrangement with your mage friend and his husband. Unofficial Mage Council  _varuk_ , I'm afraid." He chuckled. "It is not very often a woman gives up her body to carry a child for a friend."

"Heh, well, it happened…."

"Indeed. How does Yrsarald feel about the situation?"

"Yrsarald? Why do you ask me that?"

Wuunferth gave me a curious look. "I thought he was courting you."

"Ehh, well, he… he was sending me letters…."

The old mage chuckled yet again. "He came to me often over the last year for sleeping potions. You had quite the effect on the poor man. He told me about the gifts and letters. But, anyway," he waved off the topic, "what is this nonsense you are telling Ulfric about not being able to enchant while with child?"

"Wh— well, I… I don't know if I should."

"The process will have absolutely no effect on the child within you, Deborah. You simply must not enchant more than, perhaps… ten items per day, to not exhaust yourself. Now, if you do not want to do this, I can accept that, but if you want to earn some gold, this is what there is for work. Think about it, and let me know tomorrow. For now, I'm tired. I will take a nap, I think." Wuunferth then shooed me away and shut his door in front of me.

I let out a long, crying sigh and went downstairs for lunch.

Slinking down the stone steps, I heard voices, and was certain one of the voices belonged to Yrsarald. I stepped down to the door that led to the map room and pressed my ear against it.

"…due back any day now…. I'm glad to have you back, brother."  _Ulfric_. He was welcoming back his brother-in-arms, Yrsarald. I was sure. The voices were gone and I considered either going down to lunch as planned or running and hiding in my room. I was starving, so I decided the former.

Another horrible decision on my part. My hand was pushing on the door to the map room when it was pulled away from me, sending me directly into the arms of Yrsarald. The man thankfully caught me, out of instinct I figured, and held me for just a moment before setting me before him to stand on my own. He was wearing what I guessed were hide traveling clothes. Several silent moments later of nothing but a blank stare shared between us, Yrsarald walked around me and walked upstairs. I turned around to watch him go. He didn't look back.

I froze there, at the bottom of the stairway, staring up at the wall at the top. I envisioned Yrsarald opening his bedroom door and stepping on my folded set of papers, never seeing it, losing it, and never speaking to me again. I then envisioned him seeing it, realizing quickly who had written it, and tearing it to pieces before setting it on fire in his small hearth. I hoped, however, that the man would see it, read it, and read it again – because I was certain that the language the letter contained was barely comprehendible. I hoped he would feel so sorry for me that he would at least tell me I needed to work on my writing. What I truly hoped for was for him to realize that I knew I had made a mistake, and that he would decide to give me a second chance. I waited at the base of the stairway for perhaps five minutes, maybe ten before succumbing to hunger and joining the others in the main hall for lunch.

Yrsarald never came back downstairs, nor was he at dinner that evening, nor breakfast the next morning. I began to wonder if the man was fasting, or perhaps had a stash of food in his room that could last for days. If there was one thing I knew about Yrsarald, it was that the man could eat, and eat, and eat, and still be hungry. He also ate when he was upset; this, I remembered. I considered the possibility that the man was so beyond upset that he had lost his healthy appetite completely.  _This_  worried me enough to almost lose my own.

But, finally, I walked in to see Yrsarald already sitting at the banquet table in the main hall for dinner the second day after he returned. He was sitting next to Ulfric. When I walked into the main hall and took a seat in my habitual area somewhat removed from the head of the table – Ulfric's area – Yrsarald saw me, and acted as if I was no one, no one at all to him. Not a smile nor a frown, not a sneer nor a smirk, not even a tiny facial twitch formed on the man's face. His eyes found me, and he barely acknowledged my existence. The familiar lump in my throat began to form and I knew I was about to break down in tears. I loaded my plate with food – garlic-spiced venison, big chunks of cheese and lots of steamed leeks – and took my plate up to my bedroom to cry on my dinner in solitude.

From the next day onward, I took all of my meals with Wuunferth in his room, aside from the evenings Marcurio wanted me to spend with him, and for lunches I ate with Marcurio at the alchemist's shop. On the occasion that I happened to pass by Yrsarald in the halls at the palace, the man continued to ignore me. I had become nothing more than a phantom.

I was dead to him.

The night I decided that Yrsarald had officially moved on from even being my friend, I picked up the stuffed toy bear that he had given me – his childhood toy – and sat it in front of his closed bedroom door with a note tucked under its legs.

_I sorry. Your bear deserve more good. You deserve more good._


	47. Like an Arrow to the Heart

It was the morning after I had returned Yrsarald's bear. I felt somewhat cleansed. Cleansed of the burden of waiting for the man to acknowledge that I had written him what I thought had been an extremely heartfelt letter; nearly cleansed of the guilt that had accompanied leaving him in a vulnerable state, though I wasn't convinced I would ever forgive myself for that mistake.

I sat down at my desk to again read Brelyna's letter to me.

_202 4E, 5_ _th_ _of Frostfall_

_Deborah,_

_Because I am your friend, I must tell you that your writing needs a lot of work. I think that we should continue to write letters to one another, not only because I miss you, but so you can practice! Soon you will be able to write as well as you speak the language of Skyrim._

_So, included with my letter will be your letter to me, with mistakes corrected. Please do not be offended by this; I mean well._

_In response to your question, no, Dark Elf (Dunmer) children are not twenty years old. All elf children age just as quickly as humans do. I cannot say the same for Argonians, but J'zargo says that Khajiit children reach full maturity at about age 15, a year or two before most humans, and have slightly shorter lifespans. As for orcs, according to Urag, orc children reach maturity fairly young and live somewhat shorter lives than humans. My guess is that Argonians live longer than humans, but not longer than elves. Bird tells me that there are Argonians living in Windhelm, so why don't you ask them?_

_Bosmer (Wood Elves) – I believe that man Faendal you mentioned is a Bosmer – live about three times as long as humans._

_Dunmer like me and Savos can live up to five hundred years if they are not mages. Ilmeni is four hundred and sixty three years old, and she is not a mage, despite working at the College. I am one hundred and forty four years old – quite young! I don't know how old Savos is, but we both know he's much older than me. Since he is a master mage, he may be well over five hundred years old – but I don't dare ask him! Members of my family, the Telvanni (I mentioned to you my family's history…) are all mages and I've met relatives that are in their seven or eight hundreds, but this is not common for Dunmer._

_Altmer, such as Elodie's father, Faralda and Nirya, can live up to one thousand years naturally. I believe the age of an Altmer master mage is highly_ breita _. Elodie will likely live a slightly longer life than the common human, perhaps two or three times as long, since she is a mage._

_Any person that practices healing magic or is healed often by magic may have an extended life. How long that life will be is very specific to that person. Not everyone wants to live longer than their own people, but mages tend to live up to twice as long as non-mage members of their race (though this is an extreme case for master mages, I would expect). I do not know if this means you will live twice as long as the common human. Your body will tell you, in time, and perhaps you will notice that you do not look like an older person by the time you would expect to._

_The years one lives may also depend on how they live – the food they eat and how much alcohol is drunk regularly. A well-fed person will obviously live longer than someone who does not eat well._

_I know this is a much longer answer than you expected, but I also know you will enjoy reading about this._

_I'm glad to hear you and the baby, and Marcurio and Bird are all doing well._

_Write to me soon. Have you found the letter-writer yet? Tell me!_

_I will be happy to see Bird again when he is in Winterhold, and I will visit all of you there when the baby is due._

_Your friend always,_

_Brelyna Maryon_

" _Damn, that's a lot of red ink_ ," I muttered to myself in English after reading Brelyna's corrections to my awfully-written letter to her. She didn't actually write the corrections in red ink, but rather made notes in black ink where my many mistakes were. I was definitely going to have to practice my writing, and I would gladly do so by writing to my friend in Winterhold.

I had no idea what the date was. I knew we were in the month of Frostfall – the beginning of First Winter – and that at least a week had passed since Brelyna had written the letter to me. I thought perhaps that either Wuunferth or Jorleif would have a date book, or perhaps Marcurio's boss. I would have to find out if I could get my own, or if not, if I could just make a calendar for myself.

"'Have you found the letter-writer?'" I whispered to myself. I didn't want to answer her question, but I knew I would have to eventually. I read over her corrections to my many mistakes before beginning my reply, but a knock at my bedroom door took my attention elsewhere.

The door-knocker was the letter-writer, and the letter-writer was holding a small, ugly toy bear. I stared, too long probably, up at a blank-faced Yrsarald. No, not blank-faced. Sad. Tired. Scared. Angry. All of the emotions mixed into one caused the man's expression to lock, muscles confused at what they should do. My own mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out. Yrsarald brushed past me, into my room without a word.

_I am Deb's confused brain._

I closed the door, but did not lock it, just in case Yrsarald decided to attack me with the toy bear. I turned to him. He stood facing away from me, away from the door, gazing at the toy bear that he held with one large hand. I wondered if he could smell my own terror, confusion, agony and sadness.

"My mother," Yrsarald finally spoke, eerily calm, "gave me this bear when I turned five. She made it."

_I am Deb's racking guilt._

"I had to repair it, once, after moving to Dawnstar but… mostly after that I kept it in a trunk with my belongings, so it has kept well over the years." He polished its left eye with his thumb. "It's all I have left of my life on Solstheim, my parents. I missed my mother the most, after my sister and I left. I hadn't even thought of this bear, though, in years." Yrsarald walked up to my bed and replaced the toy bear there, as he had done previously. And, as before, it soon flopped over from its seated position and face-planted onto my fur blanket. Yrsarald stood, arms crossed over his chest, staring at the display. "When I learned that you were with child," he continued, "I was… confused. Confused about you, and… me, how I felt about you, thinking you were with…." He didn't finish his sentence. "When you told me that Marcurio and Bird were married, I was even more confused. I thought something was… not quite right, and perhaps you too were confused. But, then, at the archery range, when we talked… I felt…," he continued to stare at the toy bear, "I felt how you felt. About me. And I thought that, maybe, I still had a chance…."

_I am the lump in Deb's throat._

"I took the toy bear out of my trunk, stared at it a while, and then thought.… Maybe you, and later your child, might need something to… hold on to. For comfort. I didn't know, then, about your… arrangement. Anyway…."

I was frozen in place, staring at the man's elbow, completely unsure of what to say, or if I should have been saying anything at all.

"It was a gift." Yrsarald finally turned around and looked at me, the same locked expression on his face. "I don't want it back; I don't need it to give me those memories anymore. Give it to your child, if you don't want it, but don't give it back." He took a step toward me, and for some stupid, imbecilic reason I took a step back. Yrsarald froze.

Silence.

_I am Deb's pounding heart._

The man then stepped forward again, and again, eventually passing me by. He opened my bedroom door.

"Wait!" I cried in a voice laden with panic.

I turned to see Yrsarald had thankfully stopped walking away. He paused, turned, and stood facing me in my open doorway. He said nothing. His face was stone.

"Don't," my words trembled, "don't go."

I thought I saw a muscle twitch around the man's mouth, but his expression remained unreadable. "I have to; Galmar has returned."

* * *

" _Stupid,_ " I muttered to myself in English as I loosed arrow after arrow at the target in front of me, most of them landing the bottom-left area of the circle, and some of them not hitting it at all. " _Just ignore my letter. Whatever. Galmar is back. Galmar, Galmar, Galmar. Galmar didn't write you a letter, goddamn it. Stupid._ "

_Clink._

" _Damn it_ ," I grumbled as I walked toward the target area to retrieve my arrows both from the target and the floor. " _Stupid ugly Frankenstein bear. Stupid bear-man. Marc already bought toys for the baby, anyway. Whatever."_  I marched back over to the table where I'd set my practice bow and slammed the arrows down next to it.

Grab arrow. Thrust onto the bow. Yank back string. Loose arrow at Yrsarald's stupid expressionless face. Watch arrow embed itself into the outer ring. " _I can't read your stupid poker face_." Grab. Thrust. Yank. Loose.  _Thwunk_. Glower at the arrow in the second-most outer ring. Grab. Thrust. Yank. Hold. Aim. Aim better.

"You're about as good at this as you are at writing," a voice sounded to my right.  _Intruder!_

Yank again. Loose. Watch in slow motion as the arrow heads toward Yrsarald's actual and very expressive face.

"Shit!" I yelped, immediately casting a simple frost spell at the arrow to attempt to stop it, entirely unsure if it would do anything at all. Yrsarald leapt toward the wall in time for the arrow to miss his face – or, rather, his shoulder, because I have horrible aim that leans to the lower left – and the arrow embedded itself into his right bicep. A bellow of pain signaled the reality of the situation and the lack of effectiveness of my frost spell, which only managed to add a sheen of frozen water to Yrsarald's armor and neck. I threw my bow down and ran to the man, cursing in a mix of English and Norren.

"Fuuuck!" Yrsarald wailed. "Gods  _damn,_  I forgot how much this hurt." I knelt before the man, tears welling in my eyes.

Several nearby Stormcloak soldiers and guards ran into the entrance to the archery range behind where Yrsarald had fallen.

"What in Oblivion happened?" a tall woman asked.

"Deborah tried to kill Yrsarald," a guard claimed.

"I did not!" I screamed.

"She was just defending herself, I bet," another woman said, laughing.

"Shut up!" I shouted. "Go! Go! I will heal him! Gods damn it, go!" I shooed the others away and they reluctantly obeyed, but only after Yrsarald gave a nod to the guards. "Fuck!" I cried, staring directly at the arrow I had sent into Yrsarald's arm.

"Calm down, Deborah," Yrsarald grunted.

"Calm?  _Calm!?_  I could have…," I stared at the man, welled tears beginning to blur my vision until they finally spilled over and down my cheeks. "Gods…," I cried openly then, shaking, unsure what to do to help him. I could heal his flesh, but the arrow had to come out first. "It could have hit your neck, Yrsa. Your face. I could have k—" My voice cracked and my words caught.

"You can heal me, yes?" he asked, his left hand poised next to the arrow shaft.

"Y-yes," I stammered, still crying.

And then Yrsarald prodded the wound with his fingers, feeling for the arrowhead, I assumed, and then gripped the shaft for a moment. "It hit the bone."

"Oh, gods…."

"Just,  _ughhnn,_ have to cut it out." The man relaxed his arm and lay down on the stone floor. "Get my dagger. On my belt."

"What?"

"I can't just pull it out. You need to make sure the tip comes out, too. Get my dagger." He groaned. "Now would be good."

"Oh,  _fff_ —," I found his dagger and pulled it from its sheath. "I-I've never… cut…."

"Since you can heal the wound, you don't have to be delicate about it. You just need to open it up a little so I can take it out."

I groaned. "Can't you just… rip it out and… change?"

"Not without risking having an arrowhead in my body for the rest of my life," he grumbled.

Crying, whining and cringing, I held out the tip of the dagger to the wound.

" _Come on_ , Deborah," Yrsarald's orders grew more insistent.

"How big?" I asked.

"Just enough for my fingers."

 _Big, then._  The tip of the dagger entered Yrsarald's flesh. The man grimaced and looked away. I watched in horror as the blade enlarged the cut made by the arrowhead, sending fresh blood onto the floor and my mage's robe. "Alright. Try," I said. I managed to keep enough wits about me to remember to remove the dagger at the same angle it went in.

Yrsarald grunted and felt the wound with his fingers. "Yeah," he said, cringing. Eyes closed, he felt around the arrowhead. "Stuck," he said. A few deep breaths later, he mumbled a string of Norren curses. He reached again toward the shaft, wobbled the arrow up and down a bit, stuck his fingers in the wound again, and held his fingers there. Looking at me, he ordered, "Get the string."

"String!?"

"Metal string. Shelf. With arrows."

"I…," I stood, looked for a shelf, and ran over to one. There was a sort of garrote, a metal string with wood handles on either end, thick and strong like a twisted cable wire. I grabbed it and ran back over to him. "What now?"

"Tie around tip. Pull out." I stared at the man who was bleeding on his and my clothes as well as the stone floor. " _Now,_ " he ordered.

I understood what had to be done, but I didn't want to do it. I owed it to him, though, for shooting him in the first place.

_I am Deb's infinite remorse._

Fresh tears threatened to blur my vision and I squeezed them away. I formed a slip-knot with the metal string, lowered it over the arrow's shaft, swallowed my gag reflex, and slid the wire down into the wound with the tips of two fingers. I felt the metal arrowhead, and was able to work the wire around the pointed corners. With my other hand, I pulled the slip-knot tight, slowly. With my inserted fingers I felt the wire close around the arrowhead. The wire was long enough for me to get a good grip on it, but I worried about slicing my hand, since the wooden handles were rather small. "Need leather or… glove."

"Wrist guard."

Of course. Some wrist guards were just rawhide slabs. Yrsarald held the wire taught as I ran to get two. Patches of leather in place between my palms and the wooden handles, I pulled as Yrsarald held the arrow shaft steady. I pulled harder.

"Step on my lower arm."

I grunted as I obeyed. My left foot held Yrsarald's arm to the ground. I tugged, tugged harder, and harder still until, finally, the arrow shaft flopped. Yrsarald groaned through his gritted teeth as he removed the arrow with the arrowhead thankfully attached. I knew enough that, just like a bullet, an arrowhead left in a body could cause major infection, and I wasn't sure healing magic would help with that.

"Heal," Yrsarald grunted.

I did, immediately. I didn't have to use the full-body healing word that Wuunferth taught me. I just held my hands over Yrsarald's bicep and prayed to whatever god was listening that the muscles would heal correctly. The yellow glow emerged quickly and encompassed the man's arm. I heard Yrsarald sigh, and I knew he had felt the relief of healing magic doing its job well. I didn't stop healing him until the man tugged at my robe.

I collapsed onto my knees in front of him, weak, thirsty, distraught and mortified. "Yrsa, I…." I stared at him, slack-jawed and panting, lacking any words that could even begin to apologize for almost killing him. So, I cried. Ugly, loud sobs escaped me, and I mumbled words that not even I understood.

"Deborah…," Yrsarald said, quietly.

"I could have… could have…."

"But you didn't. It's my fault for speaking while you were ready to shoot. I should know better."

I just shook my head, unable to look at the man. "Never again. I will never hold a bow again. I cannot believe I… I… Oh, Yrsa, I'm so sorry!" I covered my wet face with my bloody hands, muffling my many apologies. "I should not have left you. I should not have left. If I stayed I would have never put an arrow… gods!" I mumbled more incoherent words.

Yrsarald grunted as he stood. "Come on," he said, tugging at my robe. "We're both covered in my blood thanks to the both of us. We'll get these washed."

I stood and let Yrsarald lead me out of the training halls and up to the bedrooms, crying the entire way and fully aware of the stares we were receiving from whoever we walked past.

I retreated to my bedroom and Yrsarald to his. I put my blood-stained mage's robe in my washbasin and rinsed Yrsarald's blood from my hands and face. It was so symbolic of the last couple of weeks it was almost poetic. Finally clean, I threw on my unenchanted college robe and, though hesitating a moment, knocked lightly on Yrsarald's door. There was no answer at first, but soon the door opened and a shirtless Yrsarald appeared.

The man sighed. "Come on in,  _anatha_. We should probably talk."

"'Anatha'?"

"Yes, you, with the bow. You're  _anatha_." He closed the door behind me. "Not to mention your  _domir_ handling sensitive situations." The look Yrsarald shot me was likely loaded with connotations that I couldn't understand, given my lack of understanding of some of what he had just said to me. He then rubbed his upper chest. "I think you gave me frost-injury."

I walked up to look at Yrsarald's neck and upper chest. The skin, from what I could see where chest hair did not hide it, was pink and blistered, like a burn. One small section was a sort of brown-black. "Gods…," I sobbed again. "Yrsa…."

"Just heal it," he ordered.

I pressed my hands to his chest and let my magic do its work. The blisters flattened and were soon gone. The flesh, even the patch of dead skin cells turned his healthy, tawny color. When I finished healing and removed my hands, the skin that had been black was now peeling off; the healing magic had expedited the body's natural healing process of forming new skin cells and revealing a fresh, new layer of skin. I brushed my hand over the peeling, dead skin to reveal flawless, healthy albeit raw skin beneath it.

"Better?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Good. Now," he said, walking over to a dresser, "what have you learned today?"

 _Learned? Learned? I am a horrible, horrible person, that's what I've learned._ "I am… not calm enough."

Yrsarald laughed. "Yes. What else?" He pulled on a linen shirt, and then worked on removing his blood-stained trousers. I turned away.

"I… have very bad aim. Always to the low-left. Almost always. If I had good aim…," I sobbed, "if I had good aim… you would be dead." Fresh tears wet my cheeks.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." A drawer closed and I heard fabric slide over skin. "What else?"

"I don't want you to die!" I cried, hiding my face with my palms, sobbing loudly.

"Good, that makes two of us," I heard him say. A hand on my own upper arm made me jump and gasp. My hands lowered and I gazed at the softened face of the man I almost killed. "What else?"

"I…," I sniffled, "I learned how to remove an arrow."

"You did." His hand dropped to his side. "What else?"

My voice went quiet and I looked down at the floor. "I am not dead to you."

"What?"

"I am not dead. To you. You talked to me."

Several silent seconds later, Yrsarald said, "No, you are not dead to me. Although, I should probably be more angry with you than I am…."

I sniffled, still looking at the floor. "I hate me," I muttered.

"Yes, so I've understood." He took a step toward me. "Your writing is awful."

I began to cry again. To my surprise and confusion, Yrsarald took me in his arms and let me cry on his shoulder. "I should not have left you," I sobbed.

"You were terrified. I know." His hand smoothed my low ponytail. "I should not have changed for you. It was too much. Too much. I know. This was my first mistake. I then chose to not read your letter until last night. I was… too angry, I admit. This was my second mistake. Today,  _biltig_  you, that was my last mistake. I will try not to make more."

I sniffled, trying not to use the man's linen shirt as a snot rag. "I can never forgive myself, Yrsa, for leaving you there, on the floor in your room. And today, the arrow. I was angry. I thought you ignored me, even after reading my horrible letter. I want the bear, Yrsa, I want it. I didn't know it was for the baby. I thought you hated me, and maybe wanted it back, not for me to keep it."

I felt Yrsarald's chest vibrate when he gave a silent laugh. "I did hate you, for a while…."

"I hurt you."

"Yes…. I did not mean to hurt you back, though," he said.

I held on to him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck and head on his shoulder. I couldn't think of what else to say. "What does 'anatha' mean?"

Yrsarald chuckled. "Not steady. Not consistent. Like a horse walking on ice." He chuckled again.

_Clumsy._

"You also make dragons out of dragonflies," he said.

"Wh-what?"

He laughed, loosened his grip on me, and lifted my chin to look up at him. "You worry too much. It is alright. I am the same. I worried about how you would… what you would think of what I am." His jaw muscles clenched. "Perhaps I was right to."

"No, no Yrsa," I whispered, shaking my head. "It is not what you are. I am not… I am not normal, either. Everyone at the college knows I am not normal, and some do not like me."

"Then what scares you? I could not understand from your letter."

I frowned, but looked him in the eyes when I answered. "I… I have confused feelings for you."

The man mirrored my frown. "What is confusing?"

"You… were… courting me?" I asked.

I saw a hint of pink flood Yrsarald's cheeks. "Yes."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, and backed away. I couldn't look at him while saying what I was about to say. "But you… kept you as a secret. Kept it all a secret. "

"For reasons…."

"Yes." I wrapped my arms around myself, tight. "I hoped it was you. After I knew it was someone in Windhelm, I hoped it was you, and not anyone else." I heard him walk towards me, so I continued quickly. "When I came back, when I saw you… you had… you were…." I growled at my lack of vocabulary. "I saw you, with the… big… hammer…."

"Warhammer."

"War-hammer…," I repeated. "I saw you. I… I wanted…." I squirmed under my robe. "I wanted things."

"I know," he said, his voice deep and soft.

I squirmed again, still looking away. "You… smelled… that?"

He chuckled. "Yes, in a way." He was standing closer behind me.

"Yrsa, I… I can't trust my body. Being with child makes me… want things…." I finally turned to him. "The  _chocolate_. I wanted  _chocolate_ , but what I really wanted was…." I pressed my lips together, deliberating. "I wanted what  _chocolate_ felt like."

_I am Deb's hormonal libido._

"I wanted you, alright?" I continued. "I did, but, you…  _love_ me…. I cannot just… do things… when you love me and I do not know if I feel the same. So, I am confused. And then, the… bear thing…." I looked away again. "I had a… fear attack."

"I know," he said, softly. "And I know you wanted to be alone. I thought you… would not want to be around me. I was angry for scaring you, and for you leaving. When I get angry, I… I sometimes need to go away like that. Sometimes I need to just eat, or use a warhammer like you saw me…."

"You were angry the day with the war-hammer?"

"Yes. I thought I had lost you to… Bird." Yrsarald approached me and grasped my hand. "I then sensed your own frustration, and eventually…," he sighed, "gathered the courage to speak with you. Deborah…."

When I looked into his sorrowful eyes, I began to cry again.

The man chuckled. "You cry a lot today." A hand cupped my cheek.

"It will not stop," I sobbed.

"There is no longer a need to cry." Another hand cupped my other cheek.

"Yes. You love me and I left you. I left you on the floor, naked and… hurt. And then I put an arrow in you!" My body convulsed with fresh sobs.

"Deborah…."

I shook my head. "What, Yrsa? Why do you even speak with—" I was cut off by Yrsarald's lips pressed onto mine.

My hands instinctively drifted up to grasp his wrists. I weakly attempted to pull his hands away from my face, but he held firm, insisting on kissing me. His untrimmed facial hair tickled my mouth and chin and cheeks, but I let him kiss me. I knew I wanted his kiss; my body wanted more than that. I felt my core respond to the sensation of his lips on mine and my craving caused me to push into him and finally give in. My lips moved in response, parting, allowing his tongue to slip against mine, testing the new territory. His lips were surprisingly smooth and soft for a soldier, likely due to his recent years spent indoors. My hands forged on with a mind of their own, dropping from his wrists and clutching the thin fabric of his shirt. They tugged and pulled at the linen, then brazenly slipped under the fabric to caress the hot, fuzzy flesh beneath. I moaned into Yrsarald's mouth, finally giving in completely to my desire despite my mind knowing I should hold back. When my rogue hands slid beneath the pull-string waist of the man's linen trousers, he froze for a second before pulling away, gripping my trespassing hands by the wrists. He was blushing. My cheeks soon followed.

"I'm… I-I…," I stammered, "sorry, I… don't…. I…. I have to pee." It was true. Lately I had to pee often, and urgently.

"You… what?"

"Pregnant pee," I cried as I ran out of his bedroom and into mine.

Yrsarald called to me in my bedroom that he had to go back downstairs to meet with Galmar and Ulfric. I took advantage of the free time to first, attempt to comprehend everything that had happened just then with Yrsarald, and second, to write back to Brelyna. The letter took a long time to write as I minded my previous mistakes and tried my best to mirror what Brelyna had written for correct spellings and grammar. I apparently had a lot of problems with verbs – verbs were  _always_  a problem with me when learning languages.

At the very end of the letter, I wrote to her about Yrsarald. The letter-writer. I told her everything, about the discovery, my panic attack, the separation, my letter to him, the toy bear, and what had just happened today, including the arrow incident. The only thing I did not tell her was about what Yrsarald was; this, I figured, was not for everyone to know. I closed the letter with everything that I was feeling at that moment.

_I like him, Brelyna. I very like him. I knew I liked him before, but I am now certain. He kissed me. Moments ago. He kissed me. I liked the kiss. I want more kisses from him, Brelyna. I want more._

_I feel many things, now. Many things. But one big thing I feel is happy. And I hope. I have hope, Brelyna. I hope for Yrsarald. I hope I love him, but now, right now, I like him. I very like him._

I signed the letter and folded it on my desk. I held the stick of wax over the folded papers and used my heat transference magic to melt the tip. The red wax did not catch on fire, but heated enough to drip, slowly, onto the papers. Once a glob big enough to seal the fold had formed, I put down the wax stick and stamped the glob with a heavy metal seal. The seal was not engraved or anything, it just had a flat metal surface, but it did the job. I grabbed my cloak, pulled on my fur boots, and headed down to the courier's office. On the way back, I decided to stop by the alchemy shop to see Marcurio and tell him what I had just written to Brelyna.


	48. Truth or Dare

"You're blushing!" Marcurio giggled after practically squealing his accusatory words.

I was. I felt my face and ears heat up as I grinned like an idiot – an idiot in maybe-love. "Not love, Marc, but I like him. I truly like him."

"So when do Bird and I get to sit down with him – to see for ourselves just how good he is to you?" My friend's brow creased in his best impression of a concerned parent.

I laughed. "I don't know, Marc. For now Yrsarald and I are just… I don't know. We are… I don't know the word for what we are doing. We are happy, and we are talking. A lot. And," I grinned, "he is very sweet to me."

"He better be,  _el'a_ ," he said, wagging the quill he was holding at me. He was, or rather should have been, working on taking inventory at the alchemist's shop. I was a bit of a distraction.

"Marc, why do you always call me Ella?"

He blinked at me, and shrugged. "I just do. Do you not like it? I can stop."

"No, it is fine, I just… it is not my name."

"No, it isn't a name. It is something to call someone dear to you."

I stared at my friend. "What does it mean?"

"It's short for  _elska._  I just have a habit of shortening the word."

 _Elska_. Sweetheart, Stenvar's oft-used pet name for me.  _El'a_. Sweetie.

I sighed.

* * *

After I shot Yrsarald in the arm with an arrow and was curiously kissed by him afterwards, the two of us began to spend a considerable amount of time together building or, rather, rebuilding our friendship. I still felt a bit awkward around him because of how much I desired him due to my hormones or otherwise. The fact that he knew how much I desired him didn't help either, but he never made a move to get me into his bed. Soon, however, we began to hold hands on occasion, even when eating meals at the banquet table in the main hall. While meeting, officially, to talk about war-type things and discussing what little I knew from my world about warfare, Yrsarald occasionally stole little kisses, always on my cheek or the back of my hand.

Judging from the man's actions, it was apparent that he was comfortable with what I had told him. I acknowledged that he loved me, was  _in love_  with me, but admitted that I was not there yet. He understood this. I knew I could love him, eventually, because of how much I liked him, and I knew I just needed time; I needed to catch up. Already I knew that this man was special – not because of his superhuman status, but simply because of who he was, and who he was with me. I also knew that I wanted him in my life. After the arrow incident, I had no doubts over just how much I liked Yrsarald and wanted him  _alive_ , and alive with  _me_.

One evening after dinner, several weeks after he and I started talking again, Yrsarald invited me to his bedroom for tea and talk. The tea was fruity and flowery, and refreshing. We also shared nibbles of various pastries and fruits as we talked.

As the evening progressed, Yrsarald wanted to know more and more about my world. Things I liked, things I hated, things I missed. I told him about toilet paper, however indelicate the subject was, about other things I missed like coffee, lady products, and medication that I used to take for my panic, or "fear" attacks. And music. I missed my music. I sang songs sometimes to myself, which is what he had heard at some point a year ago, little to my knowledge. I was embarrassed about that, but he eventually asked me to sing for him a song, from my world, in my language. I tried to convince him that I wasn't a good singer, but he wouldn't take no for an answer. I couldn't think of anything good to sing, and ended up singing "I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts", the Merv Griffin song but, in the tone of Zazu from "The Lion King", a movie I was obsessed with when it came out. I didn't bother trying to describe what a cartoon movie was to Yrsarald; that would have been too difficult, I thought. But the song was too short, and the man wasn't satisfied.

"Another," he said, grinning.

I grumbled and sank into my chair, and tried to think of another song, but I failed. There were simply too many tucked into the jukebox in my brain. "What type of song? There are too many in my head. Be specific about the feeling of the song, and I will think of one for you."

"Ehh, a sad one, since your last one was happy." He smiled.

Sad songs. Sad songs I knew well. I thought for a moment, and settled on the introduction to "I Remember" by Damien Rice, sung by Lisa Hannigan, who thankfully sang in my wonky vocal range. I couldn't look at him while I sung the words. I hated performing for people, particularly because I wasn't a very good singer. I only tentatively looked across the space to him after I had finished.

"What does it mean, that song?" he asked.

"Oh, ehh…," I thought a moment, "a woman remembers how she felt about a man the first time she saw him, and then later the man sings about the same, about her." I bit down on my tongue, wondering if I should explain more, but Yrsarald spoke before I could.

"Another. I like your songs."

"Another sad one?"

"Sure."

I sighed, and thought. I eventually landed on a favorite of mine, which had become somewhat of a personal anthem as soon as I first heard it. I began to sing for him "Spotlight" by The Waifs, a little-known folk-rock group from Australia. The song was about self-reflection, growing up, and realizing that even as an adult, one might have a lot of growing yet to do. At the point where I decided to end the song, I began to shed a few tears, recalling recent actions on my part; I still hadn't grown up.  _Situations still arrive where I can see the way I behaved was unjustified. These are the times I look inside and see I'm a child after all_.

I told him what the lyrics meant, all of them, as best I could _._ "The song is very… dear to me," I admitted a moment after finishing. "It makes me think of myself. Always has. Still does…." Afterwards, Yrsarald was silent for a while, deep in thought.

And then the subject of childhoods came up soon after my lackluster, mournful serenade. We talked about our respective pasts. He was a rambunctious little imp, as my mother would have described it, and I was shy and selfish. We talked about our favorite games to play as children, which meant I had to attempt to describe electronic games such as Nintendo and Playstation, computers, playing cards, and board games, or "table games". I told him my favorite "table game" was called Scrabble, and it was all about spelling long, complicated words to get the most points, or as I described it, "win the prize." The process of finding words that I knew could be used to describe such activities was harrowing.

Yrsarald told me about a game that he learned growing up which involved something like wrestling an opponent while balancing on a fallen tree. Though his family usually kept to themselves, occasionally he would see cousins that lived nearby, and always relished the opportunity to play games with someone other than his sister. He described another game, called Frozen Witch, or  _Frisna Lahek_ , which was somewhat like Tag. When the witch touched you, instead of being "it", you had to freeze in place, in whatever position you were in. You were not allowed to move until someone who was still unfrozen touched you and you could then help unfreeze over victims. If everyone was eventually frozen, the witch would win. Yrsarald made a point of explaining that a witch was not always a bad person. Different from the word for mage, the word for witch was also used to describe "a person close to nature and animals who uses earth magic and sometimes lives in the wilderness," which I figured meant something like "shaman".

I began to feel alienated from his childhood, simply due to the fact that his was spent outdoors, messing around, causing trouble, getting hurt, and so on. I tried to think of similar activities that did not involve electricity. We had Tag, hide-and-seek, and one popular playground activity – hand-clap games. For whatever reason, Yrsarald became fascinated by "Miss Mary Mack", and the hand-smack game.

Yrsarald laughed. "Again."

I groaned. "Really? I keep winning. Unless you are allowing me to win…."

"I am not allowing you to win. I am just slower than you."

I smirked at Yrsarald, but complied. "Alright, palms down, soldier," I ordered.

The backs of Yrsarald's hands were starting to get pink from having been smacked several times too many while we played the hand-smacking game, where two people face one another with one set of hands palm up and the other set palm down, and then attempt to smack, usually gently, the opponent's hand before they pulled away. Yrsarald was decidedly slower than I was, and I was indeed winning.

 _Smack_.

" _Ugh_ ," Yrsarald groaned, once again quickly defeated. "Alright, perhaps this is not the game for me."

"No, you are too big," I teased. "Your best game would involve throwing boulders across a river, or… something like that."

"I can't lift boulders."

"You just haven't tried," I smirked.

He chuckled. "Teach me something else."

"Like what?"

Yrsarald thought a moment. "Your language."

I blinked, once, stunned. " _My_  language? It is of no use to you."

"Of course it is. If I learn your language, we will be able to speak in secret, anywhere, and say anything." I had never seen him grin so mischievously.

"You are crazy," I concluded.

"Teach me, or sing for me again. Your choice."

Grumbling, I told him I would get something from my bedroom; I returned bearing my various journals. "These are my journals, written in my language. There are lists inside… of your words and my words together, and I still make them sometimes, to learn. You remember? When I was arrested?"

"Hmm, yes. Jorleif was quite the ass about the contents…."

"Correct. That is this journal," I handed it to him, "my first one. This is my second one, which I just started. Now, what is it you would like to learn, exactly?"

Yrsarald opened my first journal. "What do you write about in them? Do you write about me?" He was scanning the contents in earnest, possibly looking for his name.

"W-well, yes. I write about a lot of things."

"Where is my name?" he asked, still scanning the pages.

"I… no. Nevermind. This was a bad idea." I snatched the journal from Yrsarald's hands and threw it on his bed.

"Why? What did you say about me?" He walked to the bed, flashing a grin and a curious look in his eyes.

"Not just about you… I… write… lots of things. I never wrote anything bad about you." It was probably the truth.

"So, what is the problem, then?" He smiled, studying me. "You are embarrassed about something."

I moved, defiant, between my first journal and Yrsarald. "It is nothing."

"I don't believe you," Yrsarald said, advancing, slowly, not menacingly, but rather… seductively.

"You said you wanted to speak it. I can teach you this. You do not need to read my journals for this."

"Mmhmm," he said, closing in on me.

"I already taught you two words.  _Chocolate_  and  _pizza_."

"I want more," he grinned, daring to place his hands, gently, on my robed hips.

I grabbed his hands, removed them from my hips, and held them out in front of me. " _No_ ," I said in English.

"What?"

" _No._  It is my language for 'nei'."

"'Nei'…," he pondered, " _no._  What is 'ja'?"

" _Yes_."

"The words are similar."

"Yes, that is how I learned quickly."

Yrsarald closed in on me, a hand leaving my hip to grip one of my hands. "'Hant'?"

" _Hand_ ," I said quickly.

"'Augen'?"

" _Eyes_ ," I answered.

Yrsarald slowly leaned into me as if to kiss me, but paused a breath's distance from my face. "What did you write about me?" A grin slowly spread across his face.

I sat back on the bed and sighed. I picked up the journal that lay behind me and searched for my first entry about Yrsarald, and then read it aloud. "'I met some of Ralof's comrades today in Windhelm. Ulfric, who I knew from Helgen; Galmar, Ulfric's second-in-command; and a mountain of a man whose name I could not understand and whose accent is very thick, but he is very nice, and always smiles.'"

"That was me?" Yrsarald chuckled. "I have a thick accent?"

"Yes. To me, you do," I smirked.

"And I am… a mountain?" He was grinning and on the verge of laughing.

"Yes," I gave a little laugh. "You are, I think, the tallest and biggest man I have ever seen. Except, the husband of Ralof's sister, Hod. He is… well, you two are similar." I looked back to my journal and found the next entry about Yrsarald. I settled back onto the bed, sitting cross-legged. "'Yrsarald is his name, but I did not understand his family name at first. He helped me get a map today, and wrote down his family name for me to learn. He probably thinks me strange, or slow, or something worse.'"

He laughed, shaking his head. "Let me see; show me my name in your letters." He took the journal from me and I pointed to his name. He continued reading, and then reclined against the back of his bed, groaning in relief as he put his feet up. "Your letters are very small."

"Smaller if I had a smaller thing to write with."

"What else is there to write with?"

"Ehh, a sort of quill… no, it is like a stick, a metal stick with ink inside that comes out only when you put it to paper."

Yrsarald contemplated my description. "That sounds… useful."

"Very," I agreed.

He scanned the pages to find his name again. "Here, I found me," he grinned, and gave the journal to me. "Read to me."

I read the passage and sighed. "'Yrsarald always says my name when he sees me. I wonder if he does this with everyone.'"

He chuckled. "I do not…."

"No?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Why me?" I asked.

The man smiled warmly. "Because I like the way it sounds."

My breath caught for a moment, and then a tiny, nervous laugh escaped my mouth. "I wrote that… I liked the way you said my name." Yrsarald was still smiling when he reached out again for the journal and I handed it to him. But then he reached out his other hand to me. "What?" I asked.

"Come," he said, curling his fingers in a motion for me to come to him.

"Come what?"

"Come  _here_ , sit." He patted the space on the bed in front of him.

Somewhat confused but also intrigued, I crawled up the bed toward him.

"Turn around and lean on me, so we can read together."

I looked at him as if he was nuts. "I do not want to lean against bear paws," I said, tilting my head to his uniform top.

Yrsarald had apparently forgotten what he was wearing. He shook his head and laughed at himself, left the bed and removed the uniform top. " _Unf_ ," he grunted, stretching, "I will just put on my linens. I should not sit in my bed in these old trousers," he said, removing his old-looking, and likely not very clean hide pants.

I nervously cleared my throat as he changed, but that time did not look away. "You… have a habit of removing your clothes around me," I said, giggling after. The man said nothing and didn't look at me as he pulled on a pair of linen trousers. He was grinning, though, and more than likely blushing.

Dressed from the bottom down, Yrsarald climbed back into the bed, resumed his reclined position, and once again patted the bed in front of him. That time I complied, cozying up against him like he was a husband pillow, the kind with the large back and two protruding round arms. I leaned my head against his chest and we peered at my journal together. I sighed when I found the next passage about Yrsarald.

"'Today Yrsarald gave me a strange look when he asked me about Stenvar'…."

"That is all?"

I laid the journal down on my baby bump, wondering if I should tell Yrsarald about Stenvar and me. I had told him that I was friends with the sellsword, but I wasn't sure if I should tell him that the man and I had been intimate. Several times. "Yrsa?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you… not mind that… I was with Bird and Marcurio? You know, to make this baby…. It was an accident and we were drunk from  _Smolakap's_ ale but… you never seemed like you… did not like me for doing that."

The man's hands ran down my arms and stayed there a moment before moving along, up and down, slowly, several times. "I admit I am jealous."

"Jealous is normal. But, you don't think me… dirty?"

"Dirty?" His hands smoothed up and down my arms a few more times. "No. It happened. Once. It is done. And, something good came from it," he said, a hand moving to my belly.

"But what about other men?" I asked, fully aware that I could be walking into a mine field.

Softly, Yrsarald asked, "Are these other men in your past?"

I hesitated only briefly before saying, "Yes."

"Then," I felt his beard tickle my ear, "I am jealous, but, past is past. I do not need to know."

"But do you want to know?" I asked, cringing as I did so.

"No," he said immediately.

I bit my lip. "What of your past? I am always curious. And, as you know… too curious for my own good. You don't have to tell me, but… I would not be surprised if you had many loves, in the past."

The man jostled me with his laughter. "Many…," he said, still laughing, "no, no. Not many." His laughter calmed and he continued. "I was a soldier most of my life; I did not have time for love." I felt him tug at the leather thong that tied back my hair. He was undoing the tie. "I had lovers. This was common. I was in love once… long ago… but, as you can see, she is not here." He laughed through his nose as he loosened my hair, combed his fingers through it a few times, and moved it to the side before goading my head back down to his chest.

"And none of your lovers ever wrote to you that you have a child?" I asked with a chuckle.

"Heh, no." His large right hand covered mine, and I stared at the pair of appendages.

"When did you get your tattoo?" I asked.

"On my tenth birthday."

"It was a… custom done at that age? For werebears?"

"Yes. The tenth year is when werebears can first change." His muscles tensed for just a moment.

"Did the tattoo make you a werebear?"

The man chuckled. "What? No, no. It is in my blood. My parent's blood. The tattoo is just tradition. Nothing more. I only think of it now as a mark of being a Stormcloak." Yrsarald's left hand smoothed around my baby bump. "Are your tattoos tradition?"

I laughed. "No. They are… art on skin. Well, for me. Some people have a tradition for tattoos, but not me." I stared at our overlapped, lightly-caressing right hands for a moment. "If you bite me, will I become a werebear?" I asked, seemingly randomly but I thought it a perfectly valid question.

"No. It is in our blood only…. I think."

"You think?"

I felt him shrug. "I never asked my parents, and no one ever talked about our bites affecting others."

"Oh," I said. A lengthy silence let us fully enjoy soft caresses for a moment. "What does it feel like, changing?" I eventually asked. "I think I understand what happens to your body; I know how bones and bodies… form and form again. But you were obviously in pain. Can you describe it?"

"Hmm," the man growled the sound; I wondered if the ponderous growling was just something he did naturally. "It feels like… ehh… have you ever broken a bone?"

"Yes."

"It is like that, but, every bone. Every bone. Every muscle is torn, pulled, burning, like tiny, hot knives cutting the entire body. I imagine it is almost like childbirth, but… the entire body, and it only lasts a moment, not hours."

My stomach flipped. "Childbirth…. The part of this I do not look forward to."

"Will this be your first?"

I nodded, slowly. "Yes. And… you do not have the kind of medicines that my world has. I will feel everything, when the baby comes. Everything."

"There are teas to help with the pain."

I laughed. "Yes, but… imagine a medicine that could make it so you did not feel the pain of changing. That is what my world has."

"Something that powerful… it sounds impossible."

"I think many things in my world would seem impossible to you, just as you… you, dragons… me being here… those are impossible to people in my world."

Yrsarald was silent for a moment. "Tell me more," he finally said.

"More what?"

"More impossible things."

"Alright," I chuckled. "Ehh…, well, we have… we have a way to capture moving images. We can show moving images to people and make it seem real. We even have moving images of… werewolves… entire stories about them, captured in moving images, but werewolves do not exist. It is all… ehh, not a real image. Hard to explain…."

"And no magic?"

"No magic. It is…," I sighed, "it is impossible to explain what it is. But we can make moving images of anything. Anything at all. Horses with wings, animals long dead, people… we can make image copies of people. But they are only images and cannot be touched or smelled. Just seen and heard."

"You can hear the images?"

I smiled. "Yes. See? Impossible."

"More," Yrsarald pleaded.

"Hmm…. You know your moons?"

"Yes…."

"Well, we have only one, but we have walked on it."

" _Walked_  on a moon!?"

"Yes. Several times. And we have sent… metal… things… that are… ridden by people far away, into the sky. Far, far away. These metal things walk across other planets. Make images of the planet for our scholars to study. And people can fly inside metal birds. Not alive birds, metal things that look like birds. We fly everywhere inside them – to different lands. Like if you wanted to go from Skyrim to… Cyrodiil, a metal bird could be ridden. Or metal… boxes… on wheels. These go fast – much, much faster than a horse. The journey from Windhelm to Winterhold could take one day or less, not three. And in a metal bird, it would take… oh, I don't know, a few moments."

"A few  _moments_!?"

"Yes, moments." The conversation about impossible things ended there. For a while, I thought I had broken Yrsarald's brain. I ended the silence with a vastly different topic. "Why did you finally read my letter? You said you were too angry to read it before…."

Yrsarald exhaled, slowly. "I  _was_  angry. Yes. I was so angry that I knew if I saw you, spoke to you, I would say horrible things with the thought that I should break your heart too. Terrible, horrible things. This is why I ran, and why I did not speak to you, why I did not touch your letter for fear I would not truly read what you wrote." Yrsarald removed the journal from my belly, set it on his night table, and then splayed his hands over my belly. "I read your letter when you returned the bear. I heard you exit your bedroom that night, and I heard something outside my door. I saw the bear, the note…. I realized I had waited too long to speak to you. I am sorry."

I shook my head, or rather rolled it back and forth over Yrsarald's chest.

"No, do not say 'no'," he said before I could speak. "I am sorry. I was just angry, and hurt, and I was saving you from angry words. I never meant to make you think I did not… that I no longer loved you. I did, very much." He paused a moment, his words then calmer, quieter. "I still do. After I saw the bear and the note, I realized I made a mistake, waited too long. I should have read your letter sooner, but I don't know if I would have truly read it, you understand?" He didn't wait for me to answer. "Anyway… I read it, because I knew I had to. It was difficult to understand, but I knew you were very honest, because I felt… you. It began to hurt, in the end, not speaking to you. You were away from me for a year, and then, one door away, and yet I did not dare speak to you..." He sighed. "It hurt too much to stay angry with you, and to know you were hurting, too. I did not sleep that night. I lay awake all night thinking about what to say to you, in the morning. And then, during the night, Galmar returned, so… I did not have much time before the morning meeting. But I had to talk to you that morning. I would not have been able to think of anything else."

"And," I began, "after all of that… I almost killed you." I growled at myself. "I am a demon."

Yrsarald laughed. "A demon who made me weak for her."

" _Puh,_ you are not weak; you are a mountain. Mountain Man."

He laughed again. "Demon woman."

" _Ugh_ , this demon is hot. You are like a hearth fire inside skin. You are not a mountain, you are a… what is it called… a mountain that spits fire?"

Yrsarald continued laughing. "Fire-Mountain," he said, almost giggling.

"Hmm, the word makes sense." I pulled away from Yrsarald, reached to my left to look for my hair tie, twisted my hair around on top of my head, and tied it up in a messy bun. I let out a frustrated sigh. "I am still too warm."

"Take off your robe," Yrsarald suggested, requested, or perhaps even demanded.

I slouched, deliberating.

"I promise to be a man of honor if you do."

I turned to him. "Man of honor?"

"Yes. You know, none of this," he said before proceeding to rub his hands all over his fuzzy torso and chest.

I stared wide-eyed at the facetiously seductive display before exploding into a snorting laughter. "Gods, Yrsa…," I said before shifting out of my college robe. Thankfully, I had on ladybriefs and a chest binding underneath. But, considering I had already seen Yrsarald nude several times and he had seen me draped in a towel once before, I didn't have much hesitation to let him see me in my underwear, baby bump or no.

"Yrsa is a woman's name," he said as I disrobed, not offended but rather just stating the fact.

"Oh. I'm sorry, I have a… I tend to call people by shorter names. Many people call me Deb."

Yrsarald sat silent, looking at nothing in particular to his left, and not at my disrobing self. "Alright. I will allow it," he said. My eyebrow rose at his remark, but I was soon calmed when the man smiled at me, conveying his facetiousness. "I prefer Deborah," he continued. "Just don't call me 'Yrsa' in front of the men."

"The men?"

"Ulfric, Galmar, the lot. It would be like calling Ulfric 'Ulfi' or 'Ulfa', or Galmar 'Galmi'…. These are woman's names. It is an insult, or a  _strith_."

I laughed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "None of you could  _ever_  be thought of as women. You are all such… big men. I never met men like you in my world. I knew they existed, but I never saw one in front of me." Yrsarald gazed at me. I couldn't read his expression. "What?" I asked.

He smiled, looking at nothing but my eyes. "You are so real," was his answer. His very confusing answer.

"Real?" I asked as I stood in front of him, pregnant baby bump pointing in his direction.

"Yes. You… feel things, fear, happiness, confusion… and you do not hide them. You do not lie, pretend to be not afraid or confused. And even when you are afraid or angry you… you do not let it stop you from doing what you need to do." His hands felt the curves of the baby bump, and my hands were drawn to his hair, tied back by two gold beads. "When we were looking for the Butcher and the undead woman, you vomited, and then went back to working. One does not have to be a warrior to be brave…. And when the fear finally became too much, you did not hide it. You let yourself be afraid. Let yourself be… comforted."

"I also run when I am afraid," I added, frowning.

"And you also kill  _draugren_ , when you have to." Yrsarald paused to look up at me. "I knew. I knew when I first met you that you were different. I thought you might have been with Ralof, and then perhaps with Stenvar, but… perhaps I was assuming too much. And… I felt… protective, possessive even. I wanted so very badly to speak with you more, like we have been now. I wanted for you to begin to know me."

Gazing down at him, I said, "I wish I had known you sooner." I couldn't suppress a yawn after I spoke. I was exhausted, more and more, lately, as well as hungry and sexually frustrated. It was a strange combination. All I wanted to eat was salted meats and anything to do with fruit. Raw fruit, cooked fruit, fruit pie, anything. And I wanted to pounce on Yrsarald, and then sleep for a day afterwards. That's all.

I did nothing of the sort that night, however, except sleep. After I yawned, Yrsarald pulled me down onto the bed after lifting the covers away. Losing my robe definitely helped with not overheating while being near the man, but I couldn't stand having more than a light linen sheet draped over me. Yrsarald waited until I got comfortable before slipping under the covers himself. I lay on my side, facing him, and he faced me.

"No more wishing," he said as his hand scrunched the messy bun atop my head. He leaned forward and kissed my forehead. "You know me, now."

"I do," I said, a sleepy smile forming on its own accord.

His lips pressed to my forehead again, and then my cheek. I reached out to cup the man's fuzzy face, and then dared let my hand drift lower to his chest. I felt the curve of his thick pectoral muscle mass for a few seconds before jerking my hand away and staring wide-eyed at him.

He laughed. "What?"

"I touched you."

Still laughing, he asked, "Yes? What, did it hurt?"

"Ah—no, but, you said you would not touch me, and then I touched you." I sighed. "I'm sorry. It is like… a… bug to a flame. Do you have that thing you say, too? A bug to a flame?"

"You mean a night-butterfly to a flame, yes."

"Mm, yes. It is that. My hand goes to your chest like that. I'm sorry."

He laughed again. "Do not apologize. I didn't hit your hand away, did I?"

I turned to lie on my back. "No. But I will be a woman of honor." I turned my neck to look at him, and smiled. "Goodnight, Yrsarald."

The man leaned forward and gave the lightest of kisses to my cheek. "Goodnight, Deborah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hat tip to MadameTortilla and BennyNotBunny. MT brought up some very good theories in response to other reader's theories regarding Yrsarald's actions involving intimate situations. BNB nailed his personality completely (well done!) So, in this chapter, I added a bit of dialogue about relationships. It's a hint to his past, and we may not get more, considering how he handled the "past lovers" topic.


	49. Sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello and good morning. I'm in dire need of some coffee, now.
> 
> Feels for this chapter can be felt in: Joy Williams "Lover, Find Your Cover", Schuyler Fisk "Paperweight", and Lissie "Everywhere I Go".
> 
> NSFW.

I woke up slowly, the sensation of something warm tickling my shoulder becoming more apparent as I left my slumber. I giggled groggily before opening my eyes. It was daytime, well-passed sunrise, and I recognized the various objects on side tables and desk that indicated I was in Yrsarald's room. The memory of the previous evening slowly re-entered my mind. We had fallen asleep late after talking for hours. I smelled pastries – the leftovers from our dessert that remained on one of the tables in the room. I also smelled Yrsarald, whose natural scent could only be described as being warm, manly, and pleasant.

He was cuddling close behind me under the covers, a natural heat source leaving lighting a hearth fire completely unnecessary. As his lips grazed and planted soft kisses on my shoulder and back, I felt his hand travel south to my waist. The untrimmed hair of his beard and moustache then tickled my neck, and my body reflexed against the sensory intrusion. He laughed along with me, knowing full well what he was doing.

"That tickles," I whispered through a grin.

Yrsarald's response was a light chuff in my ear. I was surprised to hear the sound; it brought me back to the day he had shifted into his beast form. I knew my body had tensed and I felt Yrsarald still, his hand freezing in place on my hip and his lips remaining pressed to the nape of my neck.

"I have to pee," I said, slinking out of bed and throwing on my mage's robe, which was more of a dress with a wrap skirt, over my mostly naked body. During the night my chest binding became increasingly uncomfortable and had to be removed. The robe now showed off my pregnant belly prominently as the fabric of the midsection barely allowed for the extra room. I was a bit over five months pregnant.

"Now?" Yrsarald nearly groaned the word.

"Pregnant pee. Pregnant pee…," I said as I skittered out of his bedroom and trotted down the hall to mine, my feet chilled by the uncarpeted stone floors the entire way. When I returned, Yrsarald was still in bed, but had grabbed a pastry from the table while I was gone. I climbed onto the bed and, facing him, sat on his lap over the bedsheet. He fed me the remaining half before kissing my pastry-filled mouth. Laughing, I had to break free from him to finish chewing.

"You don't have to leave just to use the latrine. I have one," he said, cupping my robed hips with his hands.

"Oh yes, I do," I countered. "Either that, or you put a wall around it so you cannot see or hear me."

His brow creased. "You are strange."

I laughed. "Yes. Yes I am. In both worlds…." My tongue was still working the remnants of the pastry from my teeth when Yrsarald pulled me forward for a kiss. The spiced sweetness of the baked good masked our morning breath, and instead Yrsarald tasted like nuts and dough.

Previously, Yrsarald had tamed my sexual aggression. This morning was different. This morning, he couldn't keep his hands or lips off of me. As I sat on his lap, arms wrapped around his neck and lips pressed to his, I felt a decidedly strong heat beneath me. I was seconds away from searching for the source of the heat with my hand, but Yrsarald gripped my hips and, gently, slowly, turned us around until he was hovering over me.

My hands moved to cup his face. I wanted to see him, his expression. If he could smell or sense my desire to have sex, he must have also been able to sense any hesitancy I might have had. Looking into his bright blue eyes, I thought I could see his own desire, and that very same yearning that I had seen the day he confessed that he loved me.

I felt a pull – that was the only way I could understand it. Something pulled my heart and body and soul to Yrsarald as I gazed upon him there in bed, studying the radiant lines of his irises and the faint, sparse freckles on his face. It wasn't my hormones; it was him and me… us. I then felt a powerful, painful compulsion to kiss him, and he knew. He felt my need, and pressed his lips to mine. The thin linen sheet fell off of him to my side, and I shoved it away. I only then realized that during the night, or possibly while I was in my own room moments before, he had removed his linen trousers and loincloth.

Yrsarald's lips left mine and I got up from the bed to lift the robe off of me and hang it on the back of a chair. " _Ugh,_ finally. That thing is heavy." I turned back to Yrsarald. His pupils had dilated. I realized then that he was for the first time seeing me mostly nude from the front. I blushed, suddenly and severely aware of my swollen pregnant body.

"Gods…," he whispered, not caring to even pretend not to stare. My face and ears burned from a second rush of blood, and I looked away. I heard Yrsarald approach, and a hand turned my head to face him. "Don't be embarrassed," he said softy, and smiled before kissing me.

Yrsarald lowered to his knees, his attention drifting to my swollen belly, smoothing his hands over the taught mound. I felt a tickling kiss above my navel as Yrsarald's hands slowly lowered my ladybriefs. He led me back to the bed.

Lying down again, Yrsarald once more laid a kiss on my belly, then below my chest, then up, up, up until he found my mouth again. With every kiss, I wanted him more, and he knew. He sensed my desire, and soon, gave me what I needed. Between kisses and nips that alternated between my mouth, neck and breasts, his hand found its home between my legs. Thick fingers brushed, pressed, tickled and caressed. In no time at all I was close to a release long-awaited, and he knew. His mouth found mine again, and his kiss abandoned previous delicacies for a passion new for us. With steady rhythm and alternating firmness, I was soon shuddering against Yrsarald's body. His mouth left my lips to find my neck, to suck on that sensitive area just before the shoulder began. I grasped his hand and held it to my center, pleading for him to continue. From the way his body pressed against mine and from the sounds that he made nearly in sync with my own, it felt as if he was inside me, experiencing the very same pleasure he had given me. He knew. He felt everything.

I began to cry, but unlike before when I cried out of the fear of losing him, I cried from the release, and from the sheer joy of feeling the result of Yrsarald's affection. I squeezed my eyes shut to stop the tears. Yrsarald moved down again, and pressed his lips to my belly.

I then felt a jolt from inside of my body, and I jumped. The baby had kicked! "Did you feel that?" I asked him, laughing. "The first kick!"

Yrsarald was silent for a moment, but soon looked up from my belly, hands still caressing the internally abused flesh. " _Zeik kennt lein_ ," he whispered in a deep voice before kissing the exact place I had just then felt another kick. His words confused me.  _I felt the planet._  I wondered if I had misunderstood the word Wuunferth had taught me.

" _Lein_?" I asked, confused.

"Mm," he answered, " _hvera tingen._ " All things. The word meant both planet – or world, I supposed – and "everything".

More tears gushed from my eyes, uncontrollable, but I was smiling. Yrsarald reached for my hand and our fingers intertwined. He climbed up to meet my level and kissed the tears away. He began to press into me, but I stopped him, putting a hand to his chest. "What?" he asked.

I gazed at the man a moment before grinning. "Lie back," I ordered him.

"Lie back?"

I nodded, my grin spreading wider.

Yrsarald chuckled, but complied. He cupped the back of his head with his hands as he snuggled back into the large pillow. I crawled up to him, slowly, and though my eyes were locked onto his, out of the corner of my vision I could see that his desire had not waned. I kissed his mouth, fiercely and then gently, while letting my hands freely roam over the man's body for the first time, becoming familiar with his form. My left hand eventually found its goal, and my fingers loosely grasped their trophy. Yrsarald moaned quietly against my mouth. One of his hands left the back of his head to drift down the length of my back, finally claiming a fleshy purchase at the end of its journey. His other hand found a heavy breast. Both hands gently squeezed, and Yrsarald was rewarded by a moan of my own. He then pulled me closer to him, pressing our chests together. I needed more air, and broke our kiss.

Yrsarald's mouth immediately found my neck, garnering a frustrated whine from me. "Yrsa…?" After the man gave a light grunt, I leaned forward and whispered into his ear. " _Zeik da thrae."_ The three words in Norren conveyed more than a dozen in English.  _I desire you, I want you, I need you inside of me more than words can say._

While his strong hands unconsciously urged me over his waist so that I was straddling him, his gruff, concentrated words entered my ear. " _Da thegaar zeik eigas."_ His thick accent carried a brogue when he grunted the words to me.  _You already have me, possess me, have claim to me._  The word he chose to use spoke volumes.

I shuddered in response to his words, gasping for breath even before his mouth claimed mine again. Slowly, tentative and tortuous, Yrsarald lowered me onto him, bracing his length to greet me. He was larger than most men – in girth, not length. When I had first seen Yrsarald nude, I had nearly choked; I knew how having him inside me would feel. I waited, in that moment, to feel him fully, but Yrsarald was in no rush. As the gap between our bodies closed, my little cries were muffled by our kiss. The pleasure I felt in that moment was unique, new. And then we were fused, connected, complete. His mouth left mine to caress every expanse of flesh he could reach. Tickling, kissing, nipping, and sucking, forever gentle while lifting and then pushing my body against his.

Slow, firm. The natural way Yrsarald's form caressed soon had me crying and shuddering with a fresh climax. The man buried his face in my mass of unbound, wavy hair, which had come undone overnight, the leather thong missing in action. His breath warmed my neck.

More, more. He wasn't yet through. The steady rhythm that his hands on my hips had established continued. Yrsarald sat upright, and I leaned back, pushing my legs behind him. His mouth found my breasts and sucked in earnest, neglecting neither one. Slow, steady, rhythmic and strong, the man continued moving me against him, on and on while caressing my body with his mouth. My rounded belly was continually tickled by his fuzzy torso. When Yrsarald pulled me closer, almost too close against his body, he once again buried his face against my neck. I heard him voice a tiny grunt, nearly a whine. His fingers clung to my back as if I'd float away. Against my belly I felt his abdominal muscles quiver, and soon his strength showed its power when I came down harder onto him, faster. There was no pain with Yrsarald, none. Everything I felt with him was overwhelmingly exquisite. My upper arms lay over his shoulders, forearms wrapped around his head, and my fingers entwined with his hair, pulling gently, gripping.

Harder, faster. I felt another release building, and his hold on me deepened. I began to weep. I cried out Yrsarald's name, and Yrsarald let out a sob. Pleasure surged through me a third time, and I felt Yrsarald finally embrace his own release. He began to tremble with me as we both cried out a chorus of moans. I felt wetness on my shoulder. I heard my name whispered in a broken, rugged voice, again and again until the man beneath me stilled. We held onto one another with fierce possessiveness.

As our breaths calmed, I nudged Yrsarald's cheek with mine, a silent request for him to face me. His eyes were glistening, his cheeks wet. I no longer felt bad or odd for crying, myself. I kissed him softly, calmly. I tasted his tears. Yrsarald gripped my body and laid me down, my head at the foot of the bed, and he soon joined me. A hand desperately sought mine and our fingers locked in an embrace. I took up our melded hands to my mouth and kissed the back of the man's faintly freckled hand.

Quiet, happy tears rolled down my cheeks, and Yrsarald's free hand brushed them away. A moment later, I whispered, "Did you feel  _that_?"

The man leaned closer and kissed my forehead, cheek, mouth. His smiling eyes were my answer, but for good measure, he used his words. " _Zeik da loska, en_ …." More tears rolled down our cheeks as we kissed again.  _I love you, too. I love you. I love you. I love you._

"Mmph," I groaned against his mouth, pushing against his chest.

"What?"

"Pregnant pee. Pregnant pee…," I lightly but rapidly smacked his arm so I could find my robe and repeat the process of fleeing to my bedroom.

Yrsarald laughed. "I will close my eyes and cover my ears, I promise. Just use mine. I won't ever speak of it. Just stay, please."

I groaned, but relented. "Alright, but, promise, do not look or… hear. Promise!"

"I promise, I promise!" Yrsarald laughed through his answer as he turned to face the other direction and covered his ears.


	50. Sweetness

"Yrsa, what do we... how... ehh," I scratched my head, thinking of how to ask Yrsarald a sensitive question as we walked to Marcurio and Bird's house. Yrsarald reached out his hand to mine and gave it a squeeze. His smile encouraged me to just say whatever words I could find. "What do we call us? In my world, we would be... 'seeing' one another, and you would be my… ehh, 'man friend'." I hated the term "boyfriend"; Yrsarald was definitely not a  _boy._  I preferred the term "partner" to indicate a non-spouse romantic  _partner_ , even if the term in America was usually reserved for homosexual couples, who often  _couldn't_  marry.

"'Seeing'? I don't understand. I'm holding your hand  _and_  seeing you. And I am more than your friend. I hope."

"Yes, I do not like how my world calls what we are. The chosen words are just not correct for what we are doing. But, if someone asks me, 'What is Yrsarald to you?', what do I say? We are not married, and I… I don't know. Do I just say 'lover'?"

Yrsarald's laugh echoed down the stone-lined street as we walked. "You can. We are indeed lovers…. But there are many words you could use. 'Companion' is common. Many people use 'dear one'. And a very old term…," he turned to me and smiled, "which I think is nice, is  _unastin_  for a man, or  _unasta_  for a woman."

"What does it mean?"

"It is used for a person that you… well, that you're in love with, and they are your companion and dear one and all the rest, and…," his hand squeezed mine again, "and you intend to marry them. One day."

I felt a pang of nervousness, and I was suddenly worried Yrsarald had sensed it. I replied quickly. "Intend… but… maybe not asked or agreed, yet?"

"Correct."

I breathed easier. "And what is one called  _after_  one agrees to get married?" I asked.

"Intended," he answered.

"Just 'intended'?"

"Mmhmm."

The snow crunched beneath our feet.

" _Mina unastin_ ," I said quietly, interlocking my gloved fingers with his bare hand.

" _Mina unasta_ ," he replied.

* * *

"Oh, wow, that's… that's amazing," Marcurio said in a hushed voice as the baby within me kicked the palm of his hand. "Bird, come here." He held his husband's hand to my belly. I smiled as my friends pressed their palms to me. I then turned to gaze at Yrsarald, who had hung back, allowing Marcurio and Bird to experience the momentary sign of life inside me. The smile Yrsarald wore was almost… proud.

The four of us sat down to a dinner prepared by Marcurio – venison pie, and mine was smothered in salty goat cheese. Marcurio made to pour Yrsarald some wine, but Yrsarald stopped him.

"None for me, thank you," Yrsarald said. "Just water is fine."

"Oh, do you not drink wine?" Marcurio asked, not so much shocked as intrigued.

Yrsarald smiled. "Yes, I do. And mead of course," he gave a little laugh. "I drank a bit too much mead while…," he paused for a second, his smile fading somewhat, "while Deborah was away." Marcurio poured water into his cup. "I believe my gut could have  _ronit_  hers had I not stopped."

Marcurio and Bird laughed along with Yrsarald.

"He refuses to drink any alcohol, now," I said before sipping from my big cup of goat's milk, which I had been craving over the last few weeks. I turned to Yrsarald. "I don't mind if he does; he just won't."

"You can't; I won't," Yrsarald said before biting down on a generous piece of venison pie.

"Well, now I feel bad," Bird said, putting down his wine goblet.

"Don't, Bird, please," I said, "or I will feel guilty of keeping you from drinking what you want."

"It's not just the alcohol," Yrsarald said to me. "I do not get as much exercise now, as I spend my free time with you, eating, and eating." He winked at me, his mouth spreading in a goofy smile. "Now instead of a mead belly, I have a food-baby belly."

I rolled my eyes as three of my favorite men had a laugh. "You do not have a food-baby belly," I told Yrsarald.

"I do; it's growing…," Yrsarald patted and then tenderly rubbed his belly, which I had to admit to myself was not the slimmest of torsos, particularly under the heavy cloth outfit Yrsarald had put on for the evening. His belly would never have been considered "a gut", though.

Marcurio and Bird chuckled at Yrsarald's gesture.

"Well, just spend your time  _exercising_  together. Problem solved, hmm?" Bird said with a prize-winning poker face, half-hidden behind his goblet.

The house fell silent for a moment before Marcurio gave a look to his husband, which Bird caught out of the corner of his eye and then began to cackle, his face turning red. Marcurio hid his own face behind his hand and sighed.

I turned to Yrsarald, laid a hand on his thigh, and said, "Yep, my friend..." I sighed and shook my head at Bird. " _Naughty,"_  I muttered to Yrsarald in English, winking at him. I had taught him that, among other random words, several days ago.

Yrsarald raised an eyebrow at me, and then turned to watch Bird as the man laughed at his own dirty comment. He quietly sipped his water, waiting for Bird to calm. When he did, Yrsarald said to my dirty-minded friend, pointing a fork at him, "You. I like you…," and proceeded to eat his dinner.

"You can have him," Marcurio said, his embarrassed laughter filling the air before Bird sealed Marcurio's lips with a big, audible kiss.

After the dinner, Yrsarald and I went back to his bedroom in the palace. I hadn't officially moved in with him yet, but I had spent every night of the last few days in his bed. After slipping out of my mage's robe, I was attacked from behind by two thick, warm, fuzzy tree branches connected to a fuzzy tree trunk. Shouting in surprise but soon after laughing, I was lifted into the air by Yrsarald and gently deposited onto his bed. My laughter was muted by his mouth pressing against mine. Yrsarald then ended the kiss to gaze down upon me. He leaned to the side, grazed my earlobe with his lips, and said, " _Naughty_ ," in English.

I giggled. "I will regret teaching you that word, I think."

A growl sounded from deep within his throat before he attacked me with his lips.

* * *

"I knew you wanted to wait until the child was born, but…," Wuunferth stared at me a moment before continuing. "What has changed?"

I had to look away from the old mage. His expression didn't exactly convey that he was hurt, but the man had become somewhat of a father figure to me, and I felt like I was disappointing him. "I just…," my hands instinctively landed on my belly, "I have…." I bit my lip, knowing full well that having Yrsarald in my life wasn't an excuse to not return to the mage's college, graduate, and be recognized officially as Wuunferth's apprentice. "I worry, Wuunferth. I worry that any day Meridia will drop from the sky and say, 'You! You will fight undead for me. Go! Now!'." I sighed. "I know it is best to go back to the college, and I will, but only to prepare for what I… what I think I will need to do."

Wuunferth let out a sigh and sat back in his chair, hands folded on his lap. "Well, I cannot force you to become my apprentice, nor can Ulfric force you to go out in the field and heal his soldiers, or enchant their weapons. If Meridia does have big plans for you, then anything else would be a waste of your time, and your purpose." The old mage gazed at me. "Does your decision have anything to do with Yrsarald?"

I blushed. "Yes. If I am to be… a hero, or… I want to spend time with him, before. I am… I almost do not want to go back to the college, because it means being away from him."

"I am sure he will say exactly what I am saying, that you should graduate from the College."

"Yes, yes," I agreed. I knew Wuunferth was right. "But… what if I found you another assistant? Someone who has already graduated from the college."

Wuunferth chuckled. "Am I truly that awful that you wish to never work for me again?"

I grinned. "Yes, Wuunferth. You are truly awful," I answered dryly, sarcastically. "I am sorry to say I ran away to Winterhold only to run away from you, and I became pregnant to make sure I never had to work for you when I returned."

"Oh, it's just as well," Wuunferth smiled. "You would only make me look bad, in the end. Child of Akatosh, blessed by the gods…."

A moment later, I asked, "Wuunferth, why did my lightning do nothing to the  _draugren_  in Saarthal? I had to use fire magic, and my sword. The fire made the undead warriors become pained, and they had to lose their heads to stop being… alive."

"Hmm, yes. I recall discussing this at the mage's council meeting. No one had an answer to this, I'm afraid. The magic used to revive  _draugren_  is simply… different. But I do have my theories…."

"Yes?"

"Well," the old mage began, " _draugren_  are not alive. They do not bleed; they do not have a heartbeat. What does lightning magic do?"

"It… stops hearts. Explodes trees…."

"Hmph. Yes, exactly. The heart of a  _draugr_ is already stopped. Lightning magic cannot revive it nor kill it, because the heart is dried up inside its body, unmoving."

"Hmm, yes, I understand." I sighed, "My best magic is lightning…."

"Well, then, I suggest you return to the College, after this child comes, and make  _fire_  your best magic."

* * *

While Yrsarald met with Ulfric and Galmar, I sat down to read Brelyna's newest letter, which was a bit delayed from my response to hers. She had been away, visiting her home to comfort her mother. Her father had died from an accident involving alchemic experiments.

 _He knew better, but he was always so curious_ , she wrote about her father.  _My mother will be alright, with time. She has my brother to stay with her and help her, for now._

_On two happier notes, your writing has improved. I will send my corrections again, but as you will see, there are few. And, of course, Yrsarald. I am so happy for you, my friend. Write to me again, and tell me more of him!_

* * *

Yrsarald was panting, his fingers woven into my hair, squeezing tight until his body relaxed. He chuckled as he moaned one last time, and I crawled up the bed to kiss him. Grinning, I whispered into his ear, " _Happ med sulkinda_."

"What a way to be woken up," he said, sighing happily. "How do you say that in your language?  _Happ med sulkinda_?" he asked. " _Eeenguhlush_."

I laughed at his attempt to say "English". I snuggled up next to Yrsarald and said, " _Happy Birthday._ "

"The first word is similar," he mused. " _Haaappeee Burrrthdaeee_."

I laughed again, and leaned in. "I love you," I said quietly, winning myself another kiss.

It was the seventeenth of Evening Star, the first month of second winter. I was just over six months pregnant, and Yrsarald was forty-four years old. I had been in Skyrim for over two years, and had as of one day ago moved my meager belongings into Yrsarald's bedroom.

"I want to show you something," I said to Yrsarald.

"Oh?"

I left the bed to rummage through a pile of my things that I had left on Yrsarald's desk. I found what I was looking for and walked it over to Yrsarald, handing it to him.

"A book?" he asked, opening it.

"Open and see," I said, reclaiming my position at his side, one hand uncontrollably caressing his torso. Like a moth to a fuzzy, brown-red flame.

"It…," he started to say, cutting himself off as he flipped back and forth through the pages, "it is a book of my letters and notes…."

"Yes. I kept them all. I thought if I read them enough times, I would know the letter-writer. Eventually, I did, but… it took me a long time."

Yrsarald sighed. "I do not like this last entry." It was the short note Yrsarald had sent apologizing for upsetting me.

"It is not the last entry," I said, "only the last note. We have many things to add…."

He chuckled. "What, your poorly-written letter to me?"

"Mm, before that. The journal does not have to be just notes." I left the bed again to find a quill and inkpot. Then, sitting cross-legged on the foot of Yrsarald's bed, I began a new entry after his final note. "I have to practice in Norren, anyway." As I wrote, Yrsarald walked up behind me, peering over my shoulder. His hands held my hips and his chin rested on my shoulder.

"'I arrived… in Windhelm… today'," he read what I wrote. "What day was that? It was Heart Fire…."

"Twenty-four," I answered, writing the date at the top of the page. "It was… ehh, this year is… year two hundred and two…."

"Of the fourth era," Yrsarald helped.

"Yes." I wrote in the rest of the date. I had learned about the eras from Wuunferth long ago, and also from Savos, who had lived through at least part of the previous one.

"'Yrsarald acted… strange'." Yrsarald continued to read what I wrote. "'I do not understand… why… he does not… smile. He always… smiled… at me'." I felt him push aside my hair to access the nape of my neck with his lips. "Give me the journal," he demanded.

I did, and he sat down on the bed. On the same page, Yrsarald added to the entry after separating it from mine with a curvy line. Fascinated, I watched him write three times as fast as I could. His entry spanned two and a half pages. When finished, he handed the journal back to me to read. "'Deborah returned to the palace today'," I read aloud, looking briefly up at the author. I continued. "'She returned with two men, one of whom had put…'," I sighed and looked up at Yrsarald. "You wrote about that!?" I asked him.

"Keep reading," he said, moving to recline against the bed's headboard and his big pillow.

"'…one of whom had put a child inside her. It was the courier who took my letters to her up to Winterhold, I think. I smelled his child inside her. I wanted to…'," I swallowed the lump in my throat that was beginning to form, "'I wanted to smash the man's face into the wall, but instead I greeted him as a friend'." I looked up to Yrsarald, who was looking away from me. I turned back to his entry. "'But I then smelled a mixture of the two men on each other, and was no longer angry and jealous, but confused'." I sighed roughly. "Your smelling thing is… strange," I said to Yrsarald.

"We are both strange," he said in a quiet voice before turning and smiling at me. "Come," he motioned for me to sit by him. I did.

I created a new entry below his, and handed it to Yrsarald when I was through. "'Yrsarald is like a Nord god'," he read, and then looked over at me, a surprised look on his face.

I laughed. "Keep reading…."

"'I desired nothing else but to—'," he looked at me again, a questioning look in his eyes. "Truly?"

I giggled.

He exhaled through his nose and continued. "'—to lick the sweat from his body. He hit the wood with the war hammer hard. I saw every muscle. And then he came and talked to me, finally with a smile on his face. I felt like a child standing in front of pastries and told not to touch. I was a delicate bow, and I wanted him to'," he sighed, "'to caress my bowstring'." Yrsarald laid the journal down on his legs and stared at it.

"What is wrong?" I asked him. "It is the truth. I told you how I felt…."

"Yes, and I could sense it," he reminded me.

"So, what is wrong?"

Yrsarald made sure the ink was dry, and satisfied, closed the journal and placed it on his night table. He then turned and lunged at me, taking my cheek and jaw into his palm, holding my lips to his. He was then slinking down the bed, leaving a trail of kisses down my body as he did so.

I giggled again. "What are you doing?"

Yrsarald's hair had become wild, wavy and tangled throughout the night, his gold beads missing. In the early morning light he truly looked like a wild, dirty, war-torn Viking to me. Peering up at me from my midsection, Yrsarald's lips parted in a toothy grin as his hands parted my legs. " _You_ are not very delicate," he said before kissing my inner thigh. "But…," his beard tickled my skin, "I will see how delicate I can be with you…."

My back arched and mouth gaped in response to the man's sudden but, indeed, delicate touch. His tongue had found its target.

Bullseye.

* * *

"Eggs," I requested. Yrsarald handed me the bowl with the contents of two chicken eggs he had already cracked open and checked for shell. It was the penultimate ingredient in my final birthday gift to Yrsarald. He watched me as I whipped and stirred the flour, butter, "bread powder" which I assumed to be like baking powder, and eggs. "Now, the flower nectar." Yrsarald put in a small amount of the concentrated sweet syrup, an extract from the common blue mountain flower found everywhere in Skyrim. In the absence of sugar, "flower nectar" worked perfectly well.

The cake batter was finally ready. Yrsarald, with the help of Sifnar who was also watching, learning, had found for me a metal round that could be used for baking a layer of cake. The frosting, which I would attempt to make from milk, flower nectar and butter, would be prepared next.

I smelled everything as I worked, and everything smelled amazing.

About an hour later, the cake was done. I could smell it. The round ended up an off-white, almost beige color, as the flour used was not bleached. The frosting was the color of butter. I tapped the cake out of the metal round and onto a large platter and then set about spreading the frosting over the short circle. I asked Sifnar if any flowers were edible, and some were indeed. All of the mountain flower petals, blue, red and purple, could be eaten raw, like tulip petals. After the cake was frosted, I decorated it with a random pattern of blue, red and purple.

I then found a small candle in one of Sifnar's cupboards and planted it into the center of the cake. Not yet letting Yrsarald cut himself a piece of his first ever birthday cake, I picked up the platter and walked upstairs from the kitchen to the main hall. The lunch hour was just about to end, and Ulfric, Galmar, Jorleif and the guard captains were still eating, drinking and chatting. The room hushed when Yrsarald and I appeared with Sifnar trailing behind us with several bottles of wine.

"What in Oblivion is that?" Galmar grumbled.

"Something sweet," I said, placing the platter on a cleared area on the banquet table in front of an empty chair. I sat Yrsarald down in front of the cake, leaned forward, and with my magic, coaxed the tiny wick to ignite. "It is tradition, for me, to celebrate someone's birthday in this way." I elected not to sing the Birthday Song. I leaned in close to Yrsarald.

He was dressed in his bear-paw uniform, and his long hair was held back in gold beads, two on each side. He had also let me trim his beard for him, but before doing so I had put in small braids on either side of it. He refused to let me put gold beads on the tiny braids, but rather sealed their form with wax. He looked incredibly handsome, that day. Kingly, even.

My fingers caressed the back of his neck before I spoke softly against his ear. "Think to yourself of your hopes, and then blow out the flame."

"This seems like a child's custom," Ulfric muttered.

I laughed. "Wait to have a taste, and then tell me if you do not feel like a child again."

"It will turn us into children!?" an older guard captain gasped.

"What? No," I shook my head. "It is merely like a sweetroll, but sweeter. Just a dessert."

Yrsarald cleared his throat, and I saw that he was smiling. He then shrugged. "I can be a child, once a year…," he said before leaning into the cake and giving a little puff from his lips. The candle flame disappeared and a thin trail of smoke stood in its place. I leaned in to remove the candle and then proceeded to cut the first slice. Sifnar had placed a stack of plates by the platter, and I placed the first piece on front of Yrsarald. "It smells very good," he said.

"You  _have_  to say that," a female guard captain teased, making the other diners chuckle.

Yrsarald then took his first bite as I cut more slices, thin enough to give everyone a taste and then provide a second if they wanted it. "It  _is_  good," he confirmed, taking a large second bite. "You will like it, Galmar. You eat more sweetrolls than even I do." Everyone but Galmar laughed.

I made sure to save a piece for myself, Sifnar and Wuunferth before letting everyone have seconds and thirds. When I had finished, Yrsarald pulled me onto his lap. He tasted like cake.

* * *

As the days grew more and more cold, I grew more and more restless. My lower back was killing me and my feet and ankles were swelling. At the advice of the midwife Marcurio had found for me to begin making birth plans, I often roamed around the palace, just looking for something to do, for someone to talk to, but all with the intent on getting in at least some amount of walking. The palace eventually became boring and I had become a distraction, so I elected to take my roaming outside, despite the cold.

It soon became too cold to walk around in just a mage's robe – the one Stenvar had sent me still fit – and a cloak. My old fur travel clothes, however, no longer fit me. Marcurio, who insisted, as it was because of him and Bird I was even in this condition, paid for new fur clothes to be made for me. The top alone was patched together from several wolf hides, and the leggings from another two. The design of the clothes was clever: three rows of buttons were sewn onto the fur on both the top and leggings, meaning the width of both pieces, particularly in the midsection, could be adjusted. A belt sewn onto the waist of the shirt prevented it from looking like a fur blanket hung over my shoulders. As it was, one and a half months to go from delivery, I already had to button the outfit on the widest of the three rows. Thankfully, my old fur boots, gloves and cloak still fit me.

Clad from head to toe in fur, I waddled out of the palace and into the cloudy, snowy day. I didn't roam anywhere in particular. I just wanted to see the marketplace, chat with the blacksmith Oengul and his apprentice Hermir, say hello to Marcurio and show off the outfit he paid for, and generally just walk around until I couldn't walk any longer. When my roaming brought me to the Candlehearth, I decided to duck into the inn to say hello to Elda, and perhaps purchase a lunch from her for the first time in over a year.

Inside the inn, lively music could be heard upstairs, and I waddled up the steps to listen and find a server to order some food. Suddenly too warm, I shrugged off my cloak and unbuttoned my fur top, under which I wore a long-sleeved linen shirt. I made my way, fur items draped over my arm, to a table somewhat removed from the blazing hearth, closer to the musicians. I hung my furs over a chair and made to sit, but was stopped by a familiar voice coming from behind me.

"Hey, sweetheart," the deep voice sounded.

I spun around to find myself face-to-face with Stenvar. He was smiling, broadly, obviously pleased to see me. I, on the other hand, was a deer in front of a beaming headlight, frozen, knowing full well it should flee, but unable to do anything of the sort. His smile neutralized when I failed to return his cheerful greeting, when I failed to speak at all. The man in steel took one small step toward me before stopping short, having finally taken in the sight of my protruding abdomen.

His grey eyes, wide with confusion and shock, darted back up to mine, and his mouth hung open. "Blessed Mara," he breathed. "Is that mine!?"


	51. A Cloudy Day

I stared at Stenvar, my face slowly thawing from its frozen, stunned expression to one of deep confusion.

"What?" I shook my head and lowered my voice to a whisper. "Stenvar, no. It's not yours. You can't make children, remember?"

"Well, I haven't yet, that I know of. What if…?" He advanced close enough for me to smell the mead on his breath. He lowered his voice. "What if the gods finally answered my prayers? I thought you said ya didn't meet anyone. Unless…," he cocked an eyebrow, "unless ya found that letter-writer of yours. I mean, how far along are ya? Look like you're 'bout ready to explode."

I groaned, and sat down in my chair. Stenvar walked around and sat in the chair opposite me.

"What, ya didn't find him?...  _Her_?" By the tone of Stenvar's voice, I half-wondered if he was wagging his eyebrows, but I didn't look at him to find out. "Whose kid is this, then? I mean, you 'n me, we… last saw one another… gods, almost nine months ago…."

"I'm hungry," was all I said, not looking at him.

"Nora!" Stenvar shouted a moment later over his shoulder.

A petite but busty blonde practically hopped up to my table. "Hey sweetie," she clucked, addressing Stenvar. "Who's your friend? We don't get many mothers-to-be in the tavern." The irritatingly cute blonde giggled harmlessly.

"Nora, two stews, please." Stenvar put in an order for us. "And one mead, one milk."

"Goat's milk, if you have it," I added.

"Sure thing, ehh, what's your name?" the blonde bunny asked.

"Nora, this is Deb, one of my closest friends," Stenvar said. I turned to look at him when he introduced me as a close friend. Sure, I considered him the same, but for some reason the statement felt very, very odd at that moment.

"Deb!" she giggled. "Nice to meet ya. I'll have your lunch up in a moment." And with that, the blonde bunny hopped away.

I glared at Stenvar. "So, Nora, hmm?" My question was laden with accusation.

Stenvar stared blankly at me for a moment before busting out a laugh. "Yeah, she's new. Real young. And no, I haven't fucked 'er. She flirts for the extra coin diners slip 'er sometimes."

Elbows leaning on the round table, I drummed my fingers loudly for a moment. "It is not yours, Stenvar," I finally said. "I bled after you and I…." The music thankfully drowned out our voices to anyone not sitting at our table.

"Oh," he said, reclining against the back of his chair. "Well, I'm less surprised, then. So, who's the lucky guy? Word 'round the city is that you're with Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced…."

The words were not said with any hint of anything. Stenvar was simply stating a rumor he had heard. A rumor with truth behind it. "I am," I said, more proud than anything else. "He was the letter-writer. But, I think even if he was not, I would be with him."

"I don't doubt it. I knew 'im well; Yrsarald's a great guy. But, that was quick, after you and I…." Stenvar's sentence trailed off, and was then interrupted by Nora bearing our lunch and drinks.

"Stew's hot n' drink's cold. Enjoy!" Her grin would have been infectious if I hadn't been in the middle of an awkward conversation.

Stenvar planted a short pile of gold coins into Nora's palm, and then the bunny hopped away.

"You don't have to pay for my food, Stenvar," I said.

"No, I don't," he shrugged, taking in a mouthful of stew. "So," he said after swallowing, "yeah, that was pretty quick…."

"It is not Yrsarald's," I clarified.

"Oh." Stenvar stared across the table at me, spoon hovering over his stew. "Then whose is it? Please tell me you weren't raped again…."

"What!? No!" My voice was a harsh whisper. "No. It is a friend's. It is a long story."  _Lies_. It was a very short story. "No one raped me."

"Well, good. I was about to fix on killin' me a son-of-a-Daedra…." Stenvar, ever the White Knight. He proceeded to chug his mead.

"It is a surprise baby. Alcohol…. It just happened. I am giving it to my friend, to adopt." I slurped my stew.

"Adopt? Why? Yrsarald not want ya to keep it?"

I groaned. "No, he… he would have been fine if I kept it. I think he would prefer if I keep it. But a deal is a deal, and this baby is my friend's."

"Fair enough." Stenvar finished his stew quickly. After a little burp, he asked, "Are ya happy?"

I tried to fight it, tried to fight giving into the emotion for whatever reason, but the biggest smile spread across my face, forcing into submission any and all other facial muscle positions.

"Guess that's a yes," Stenvar chuckled, sipping his mead.

"I am," I confirmed. "We are."

"Well, then, sweetheart, I'm happy for ya." He clinked his mug against mine and raised it before taking another sip.

I chewed my chunky, meaty stew. "What about you? Where have you been? What have you been doing?"

"Same thing I've been doin' for over twenty years. Oh, I did find this strange… block of engraved stone. Had designs on it. I think it was a treasure map. Wanted to bring it to ya, 'cause, you know old things, but it was stolen while I was passin' through Riverwood."

"A treasure map on stone? Must be great treasure."

"Or old. No matter, now. It's lost."

"You have enough gold, anyway, Thane Stenvar…." I said his title,  _Puzan_ , which I had equated to the English word Thane, a man who was granted land by someone like a Jarl.

Stenvar waved off the title like it was a pestering fly and downed the rest of his mead. "Another!" he shouted, all but slamming the mug onto the table. The blonde bunny hopped up to retrieve Stenvar's empty mug, hopped away, then hopped back again with a full mug. Stenvar paid her for the refill and she gleefully hopped away again.

"Shame what happened in Riverwood," Stenvar said.

"What? What of Riverwood? What happened?" I sat forward on my chair.

"The town was attacked by a dragon a few months ago. Did word not reach 'ere?"

My eyes went wide. "N-no! No it did not!" I stood and slid on my heavy fur shirt.

"Wait, what's wrong?"

I flung on my cloak and headed down the steps and out the inn door.

"Deb! Wait!" I heard the man shout as he ran after me. "Gods damn it, don't run. It's icy!"

"I won't run. I will walk fast. Walk fast to yell at Ulfric."

"What? Yell at the Jarl? Why!?"

"Ralof!" I said without looking at my friend. "Ulfric knows Ralof, and Ralof is from Riverwood! They are friends. Ralof and I are friends. Ulfric must know. Why did he not tell me!?"

"Shit," I heard Stenvar mutter behind me. "I don't know, Deb. Perhaps no one was able to tell 'im. It's a mess out there."

"It is?" I stopped and turned to Stenvar. Living in comfort up at the college where the war did not reach, and then at the palace, my only knowledge of the civil war had been whatever Yrsarald had discussed with me, and what I had overheard by accident. Aside from nearly being beheaded at Helgen, and aside from Ralof hiding from Imperial soldiers, I had seen absolutely nothing of the effect this war was having on the country I now called home. "Come," I grabbed Stenvar's wrist and continued walking.

"Where?"

"Palace."

"Palace!?"

"You tell Ulfric about Riverwood. If Ulfric already knows, you can go. I will yell at him alone."

"You can't yell at a  _Jarl_ , Deb."

"Yes, I can." Stenvar allowed me to lead him all the way to the palace, but before we walked in, he tugged back and freed his wrist from my grasp. "What?" I asked him.

"Is Galmar in there?" he asked.

I let out a long, exasperated sigh. "I don't know, Stenvar. He probably is."

Stenvar took a few deep breaths, and the pressed forward, entering the palace on his own accord. He walked down the main hall in a steady, confident manner, not taking his eyes off of Ulfric who was sitting in his throne.

"Stenvar… Stenvar Grey-Mane?" Ulfric called as he stood and descended to meet our level.

"Jarl Ulfric," Stenvar reached out his forearm in greeting. "Long time."

"Over fifteen years, I think." Ulfric approached the old sellsword, who stood a bit shorter than the Jarl, and grasped his forearm. "What brings you?"

"News from Riverwood." Stenvar loosened his grip on the Jarl's arm and his hand dropped to his side. "I assumed you'd know, but Deb insisted I tell you, in case you didn't. Troops were attacked by a dragon – the town too. Stormcloak and Imperial and citizen alike were killed."

"Yes, I'm aware, but thank you, Stenvar."

"You  _knew_!?" I pushed past Stenvar and confronted Ulfric.

"Of course I knew, Deborah."

"And you said nothing to me? Ralof is from there! Was he there? What about Gerdur and Hod and Faendal and—"

"Ralof was not there," Ulfric interrupted me. "He's been in the southeast, north of Riften. I don't know about his family, or the citizens there, but the town was heavily damaged. Ralof and his troop are fine. Try writing to those you knew in Riverwood, or to Ralof in Shor's Stone to see what he knows."

"What's going on?" Galmar huffed as he entered from the map room, Yrsarald trailing behind him.

"Deborah?" Yrsarald called quietly.

" _Stenvar_ …," Galmar growled.

 _Fuck_.

Upon seeing the commander in a bear hat, Stenvar puffed his chest, turned to me, planted a friendly kiss on my cheek, whispered, "Was nice to see you," and turned to leave.

"St… Stenvar, wait," I trotted up to meet his stride. "You don't have to go."

"I do. I'm glad you're happy Deb," he said, still walking. "You're happy, I'm happy. But I have to go."

I was sweating under my three layers of clothes by the time Stenvar pushed open the palace door. He turned to me, grasped my hand for just a second, smiled, and headed out into the snow-laden, frozen city.

I stood in the massive doorway, watching my old friend leave me without looking back. Yrsarald was soon standing behind me, one hand placed on my hip and another on my upper arm. Even without looking at him, without being able to smell or sense how the man felt, I knew Yrsarald was suddenly jealous, possessively putting his hands on my body, just in case I decided to leave him and run after Stenvar. I wouldn't have, I knew this, but Yrsarald perhaps wasn't so sure. He didn't know, after all, why I had been with Stenvar in the first place. As I watched the sellsword's steel grey form disappear in the thickening fog that soon clouded him from my vision, I thought I could hear the distant rumble of thunder.

And then the world sounded as if it had exploded. I had never experienced an earthquake, tornado, volcanic eruption or any other natural disaster before, but I knew the moment I heard the thunderous blast that something similar to a volcanic eruption had occurred. Yrsarald had told me the word for volcano, "fire mountain", which meant he knew that they existed. But where in Skyrim one was, I didn't know. I half-turned to look up at Yrsarald, who only looked to the clouds and not at me. I followed his gaze to the glaring white overcast sky, wondering what he was watching for. I thought perhaps a dragon had made the noise, and that was why Yrsarald looked to the sky.

Then the tremors started. Shallow and barely noticeable, I felt the stone beneath me begin to vibrate. I turned to Yrsarald who finally returned my gaze. "Out," I said. "Out!" I took Yrsarald by the hand and ran with him outside of the palace to the center of the courtyard where nothing could fall on us.

"Where are you going!?" I heard Galmar growl behind us as he approached the doorway.

"The earth is shaking, Galmar!" I shouted back at the commander. "It is not safe inside!"

"It is safe," Ulfric declared from behind Galmar.

And then a second tremor hit, rough and deep as if thunder had sounded from within the earth itself. I suddenly found myself being cradled while standing by Yrsarald, his two lumberjack arms wrapped as tightly around me as possible. We were surrounded by half a dozen men and women, including Galmar and Ulfric, who had fled from the palace to join our huddled mass in the courtyard.

A moment later, the earth stilled. I waited, unsure if the second tremor was the aftershock, or if there was more to come. The world became deathly quiet. Everyone was afraid to move. Unlike in my world, when after an earthquake car alarms would sound, I heard nothing but the wind and the cries of an infant.

No further tremors came. People began to re-enter the palace, but Yrsarald held me back. He was clinging to my cloak, but soon loosened his grip and smoothed out the mussed fur.

"Are you alright?" he asked me.

"Yes, I'm fine. I didn't know Skyrim had earth-shakes…."

The muscles of Yrsarald's jaw clenched as he gazed down at me, tucking a loosened tress of hair behind my ear. "We don't."

We turned back to the palace, but I stopped when I saw Ulfric standing alone, looking toward the southwestern sky.

"Ulfric?" I called to him.

The Jarl either didn't hear me or elected to ignore me, his gaze never faltering from the clouds.

"Come," Yrsarald said softly, taking my arm in his and leading me back inside.

A moment later, I asked, "Yrsarald, if you do not have earth-shakes, what just happened?"

"It was the Greybeards," a deep voice boomed from behind me, "I'm sure of it."

I turned to Ulfric as he re-entered the palace. "What are grey-beards?" I asked him.

Ulfric walked past me and Yrsarald, and then mumbled his answer. "A bunch of old men on a mountain."

I stared after Ulfric as he continued down the long main hall toward the map room. "Old men?" I asked as I followed him. "How can old men make the earth shake?"

"They were calling to someone," the Jarl answered.

" _Calling_  to someone? And the earth shook?"

"Yes." Ulfric headed straight for the stairwell to the upstairs hallway.

I stopped following him, then, figuring he wanted to be alone. I turned back to Yrsarald. "What did he mean, old men were calling someone? How can men's voices make the earth shake?"

Yrsarald took my hand in his. "'Soon the Greybeards made it known that they were restless'," he said as he sat down at the banquet table and bade me do the same. "'Already the storms had begun from their  _nithen_. The Greybeards were going to Speak'."

"What are you saying?" I asked him. "Is that a… legend?"

The man gave a small smile before speaking again. "'The surrounding villages were abandoned as the people fled the coming explosion. The villagers warned Talos to turn back, for he was marching to the mountain where the Greybeards dwelt'."

" _Talos!_ " I exhaled the name. Yrsarald was reciting to me a tale about one of his gods.

"'Inside Talos went'," Yrsarald continued, "'and on seeing him, the Greybeards removed their gags. When they spoke Talos's name, the World shook'."

I gazed at Yrsarald for a moment. His eyes were fixed on mine, and I wondered if I was actually able to read his expression, to fully understand what he was trying to tell me. "The Grey-beards… old men on a mountain… make the earth shake by speaking…."

He nodded.

"They… called to someone…." Yrsarald's eyes grabbed hold of mine and refused to let go. He was wordlessly leading me to my own conclusion. "The Grey-beards… have found a god?"

Yrsarald leaned forward and kissed my forehead before again looking me in the eyes. "They have found their new Ysmir. Either they call for him to come to them, or he is already there."

I frowned, and then turned to look behind me towards the map room. "Ulfric is upset, isn't he? I know he can shout. St—… a-a friend told me." I then recalled briefly the conversation I had had with the Jarl some time ago. "Ulfric…," I turned back to Yrsarald. "Ulfric thought he was going to be Ysmir. The Dragon of the North. He thought that, didn't he?"

Yrsarald nodded.


	52. Family

" _NO!_ " I screamed, both in my dream and as I woke, bolting upright in bed. Stenvar had been lost in the mist, and in the mist were glimpses dragons. A tail, swooping, cutting through the fog. An eye, flashing, winking at its prey. A wing, flapping, carving a temporary window to its serpentine body. A flame, licking, melting the very air I breathed. The mist had cleared just long enough for me to watch as Stenvar was snatched out of existence by a colossal black maw.

"Deborah?" I heard Yrsarald's voice reach out to me in the darkness. It was the middle of the night, I supposed. Arms soon wrapped around me. I realized I was trembling. "You screamed. Did you have a bad dream?"

I couldn't get the final scene of my dream out of my mind _._ "Yes. The first. First in a long time."

Lips pressed to the back of my shoulder. "It is just stress. You are stressing. Stop stressing." Yrsarald yawned.

I didn't answer Yrsarald. While I hoped he was right, I was almost certain that he wasn't. It was true that I had been getting very antsy about being due to give birth in two weeks or so, but I knew that the nightmare shared similarities with dreams I had experienced in the past, before my brief respite from such visions.

Yrsarald was soon snoring, occasionally chuffing softly. I stood from the bed, walking off the first bad dream I had had in perhaps a year. I stood at the tall window on my side of Yrsarald's bed, our bed, and gazed over the moonlit landscape. There was no mist, then, unlike the last day I had seen Stenvar, and unlike my dream. The moons shined bright, very bright, soaking up the reflected light of the snow-capped north.

I thought about the rumors that I had heard over the last month, about the increase in dragon attacks throughout Skyrim, and of a dragon hunter who was often simply too late to save a village from burning to the ground before killing the offending beast. According to the rumors, the dragon hunter was as tall as ten men and as strong as one hundred; the dragon hunter was Talos's ghost or even Talos reborn; the dragon hunter could spit someone to death; or, my favorite, the dragon hunter was actually a dragon in human form, complete with green scaly skin, wings, and fire breath. I didn't believe the rumors about the dragon hunter's appearance or abilities, but I could believe that one was out there. Dragons were becoming abundant in Skyrim for the first time in perhaps millennia, which as one would expect would account for the existence of at least  _one_  person who might want to hunt them down. I hadn't thought of the possibility before, but after dreaming of Stenvar being attacked by a dragon, I had to wonder if my friend was the dragon hunter everyone was talking about.

I sent a silent prayer to Dibella, Stenvar's goddess, to watch over him, to not let him get eaten by a dragon. " _Where are you, sellsword?_ " I whispered to myself in English, just in case Yrsarald was not as fast asleep as I'd thought. It wasn't a crime to think of my friend and wish him well, but Yrsarald held a small jealousy toward the older man after I admitted that Stenvar and I had at one time been intimate. The admission was necessary after my reunion with Stenvar on the day of the earthquake, and especially after my subsequent dreams of him in which I'd mutter or moan his name. This was also how I learned that I still dreamt in English, and therefore spoke in my sleep in the language as well. Yrsarald still claimed that my past sexual relationships didn't bother him, but I knew better. I could read Yrsarald's moods just as well as he could smell mine. He was jealous. He didn't have to say it; I knew that Yrsarald feared that my feelings for the sellsword would one day return, and that I would give in to them.

"Come to bed, honeybee," I heard Yrsarald murmur, using his newfound pet name for me. I wondered if he had heard me speak, earlier, but even in the near-blackness I could see his eyes were closed as he reached out for me. He had merely sensed my absence. Before returning to bed I succumbed to the immense pressure on my bladder and used Yrsarald's latrine, our latrine, without caring that he could see or hear. He had kept his word – he never, ever mentioned the activity.

With Yrsarald, I had to sleep nude. There was no other way of being comfortable. The man was radiator, and I had a thick layer of insulation. Yrsarald, too, had packed on a few extra pounds. I still maintained outwardly that he did not have a food-baby belly, but the reality of his larger physique had become more apparent lately. Though mostly hidden by a thick, pleasant trail of brown-red hair, his gut had indeed grown to about the size of a woman carrying a several-month-old fetus.

Sliding into bed and pushing the sheets and covers away from me, I snuggled up to my cuddly bear-man and placed my palm on his food-baby belly. I heard his content, low growl vibrate deep within his chest when I laid my head down. I let his heartbeat goad me back into slumber.

* * *

"Lortheim will now  _kvetha_  the names of the Five Hundred Companions on this, the thirteenth of Sun's Dawn, before we celebrate the Feast of the Dead." Jora, a priestess of Talos, gave up the floor to her fellow priest. Perhaps half the city, only Nords and no elves, was standing around the large plaza by the south gate. Inside the Candlehearth inn behind the plaza, as well as inside the main hall of the palace, waited a sizeable feast for Windhelm's citizens. Marcurio, and Bird and Brelyna who had only just arrived days before from Winterhold, had elected to skip the recitation. I, the companion of Yrsarald, apparently had to make an appearance, despite being two weeks away from birthing a child and wanting nothing more than just to sleep.

"Ysgramor,  _Rozol_ of the Five Hundred, Captain of Ylgermet." Lortheim paused only to take a breath before continuing. "Yngol, Captain of Harakk, son of Ysgramor. Ylgar, Captain of Darumzu, son of Ysgramor…."

I leaned in close to Yrsarald and whispered, "Is he truly going to speak five hundred names?"

" _Kffft_ …." My own companion told me to shush.

I sighed.

When Yrsarald had told me what we were to do midday – stand in the plaza and listen to a lengthy recitation – I had groaned loudly.

"Jeef of the River, Captain of Jorrvaskr."

My feet had hurt within the first five minutes as I stood listening to the priest and priestess of Talos speak toward the continuing fight to preserve the worship of their god, and toward the sorry state that the once-great Empire was in.

"Rhorlak, Captain of Chrion."

Talk of the war and of the Empire segued into talk of a warrior named Ysgramor, kinsman of Talos, and told the tale of how he and his five hundred companions freed Skyrim of murderous Snow Elves. At the mention of the elves, a man I had only encountered several times, and that was several times too many, drunkenly slurred something loudly about dirty, rotten elves. Rolff Stone-First was his name, and I refused to believe that he was biologically related to Galmar Stone-First, who I had never heard speak a bad word about the elves. The two looked nothing alike, anyway.

"…Alhild the Fiery. Aleld. Alver. Anarr. Ani. Ansvarr the Short. Arinvi. Arvith. Asgeir…."

I found it curious that the crowd simply ignored Rolff instead of removing him from the plaza, which I would have preferred. This wasn't the first time I had heard horrible things being said about elves, namely the Dark Elves that inhabited a part of the city, but such remarks made me very, very uncomfortable. It took all I had not to knee Rolff and his racist friends in the genitals.

"…Birsa. Bjorg. Bogi. Boli. Botvi. Breff the Elder. Britte. Brunl the Off-Handed…."

I forced myself to relax. Forget about Rolff. Forget about the racism that some Nords harbored toward Dark Elves. Forget about the awful things I had heard about Ulfric.

"…Freyvith the Red. Froa. Froki. Gautur. Gedda the Quick. Gestir. Gillaug. Gloa. Grosta…."

I then felt an odd sensation, like I had to pass gas and pee at the same time.

"…Hermeskr. Hethin. Hofir. Holmi. Hrathi. Hroi the Wanderer. Iarni. Ilmir. Ingi. Iolik. Iri the Wild. Jarpir. Joar. Jodis. Jonder the Tiny. Joraldir…."

I heard water dripping, and then a release of pressure from within me.

My water had broken two weeks early all over my fur boots. Yrsarald turned to me, a frantic look in his eyes. He had smelled it.

* * *

"I don't know about this," Yrsarald said, pacing back and forth. "Babies are not fish."

"It will be fine, Yrsa," I said, sinking into the large, stone tub full of warm water that had been infused with various potions meant to aid in soothing child labor pains. I was wearing a thin linen birthing dress, simply for modesty's sake, as my good friend, Brelyna, and the fathers-to-be, Marcurio and Bird, would be joining in on the fun soon.

The soft glow of oil-fed sconces, the warm, medicated water, and the midwife humming a low, pleasant tune kept me relatively calm throughout my early waves of contractions.

The midwife Marcurio had hired, Gjerta, had prepared the water and was milling about the communal, upstairs bathroom in the palace where I was to give birth. I had always been curious about water births, and after talking with Gjerta and writing back and forth with Brelyna, I had made the decision to try it. The only tub in the palace that would accommodate such a feat was the largest of the three upstairs. That, or Ulfric's personal bath, but even Yrsarald couldn't convince the Jarl to let me birth a tiny human in his tub.

"Shit, shit shit…," I cried as a contraction ripped through me from the inside out.

"Again? It seems soon," Yrsarald fussed. He was near-panicking again, pacing in front of my tub. For the most part he was very much a calming presence – except when I was in pain.

"It is normal, Yrsarald," Gjerta assured him.

"It will only get worse, Yrsa," I reminded him. "Come here," I pleaded, scrunching my fingers in and out, signaling for him to hold my hand. A chair had been placed behind me where Yrsarald could sit. He walked over and let me squeeze his hand. Despite my own pain, I made myself release him when I heard his knuckles pop. He then leaned forward and massaged my shoulders and neck; it helped him focus his own nerves in helping me, rather than making me even more nervous.

I slowly rocked my hips back and forth while letting my body be moved by Yrsarald's strong hands. The rocking motion helped either distract me from the uterine cramping or, perhaps, actually helped dull the severe aching my body had been feeling for hours.

"Press on my low back," I whispered to Yrsarald. He slid his hands down into the water and did as I asked. The action of pressing down on the area where the sacrum met the fifth lumbar vertebra felt really, really good at that moment. As an added bonus, Yrsarald's hands were like heating pads, and I wondered if he himself was helping to keep the bathwater warm.

Gjerta answered a knock at the door, and then let in Marcurio, followed by Bird and Brelyna. Bird had just arrived from Winterhold two days before the Feast of the Dead, bearing Brelyna and a pile of gifts for the baby. Brelyna ran past the men to come to the side of the tub and hug me, unintentionally pushing Yrsarald away.

"Oh, sorry," she said to Yrsarald, giggling, and then hugged me again before backing away and letting Yrsarald continue to press on my various pressure points. "How are you feeling?" she asked me.

"Alright, for now," I said, again rocking my hips back and forth. "Some pain, but, the water helps."

"I told you it would," she said, sitting in a chair somewhat removed from the tub. Bird walked up to give my forehead a gentle kiss, and then joined Brelyna in sitting. Marcurio, however, joined Yrsarald in the panic club. He stood with his arms crossed, body jittering, unable to stay still.

"Don't worry so much, Marc," I said with a smile, though my smile soon faded into a grimace as another contraction hit. Right on cue that time, Yrsarald leaned into me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, letting my hands grasp, too tightly I was sure, his muscular forearms. Squeezing him was the equivalent of biting down on a stick, or blurting out a series of curses. I felt Yrsarald's chest rise and fall as he exaggerated slow, steady breaths to guide my own. He had been overly willing to work with Gjerta in preparing for this day, and despite the occasional, typical nervous-father panic attack, Yrsarald was a rock.

When the time came to push, only Yrsarald and Gjerta hovered over me. Marcurio, Bird, and Brelyna kept back, away from the tub, giving me air and giving Gjerta room to work. Yrsarald whispered encouragements in my ear throughout the ordeal, always letting me squeeze his hands or arms.

"Marcurio, Bird, get ready," Gjerta called to the fathers.

"Already?" I cried, my panting and grunting momentarily subsided. "That was… fast…." An even more painful contraction then erupted from my midsection and threatened to tear me apart.

"Push, Deborah," my midwife ordered.

While my hands squeezed some part of Yrsarald, I pushed. In the end, I only had to push six times. The baby came out quiet, and I was instantly worried it had died, drowned, or was dead before I pushed it out. My worries deepened when Gjerta placed the blue-pink child between my breasts, letting our torsos meet. Babies were supposed to cry, scream and complain about being ripped from the womb.

When I saw a tiny arm move, I realized I had forgotten to breathe. I inhaled deeply and witnessed the tiny human come to life.

Gjerta turned the baby onto its back so we could all get a good look at it. The blueness of the baby's skin soon gave way to a healthier dark pink. The baby then started making tiny, flailing attempts to figure out where it was. I wondered, briefly, what taking air into the lungs for the very first time was like, and what it was like to see light for the first time, even just the low glow of oil-lit sconces. I wondered if the baby smelled for the first time – if it smelled me, Marcurio and Bird, Yrsarald behind me, or the flower-scented water it was born into. I knew at some point a developing child could hear within the womb, but surely the unfiltered voices it was finally hearing were adding to an abrupt sensory overload once the brain registered all the new stimuli.

Finally, the baby started wailing, already showing power behind its lungs, and for whatever reason the cries made me happy. There may have been no scientific basis to any of it, but I was convinced the crying meant that the child could feel, see, hear, and smell just fine. Looking into the squishy, screaming, steadily reddening face, I saw a tiny tongue widen and then curl into itself, and figured the child would be able to taste, too. Ten fingers on two hands flowed aimlessly, unsure what to do. Ten short little toes topped two wrinkly feet which sprung from two flexed, chubby little legs. As far as I could tell, the baby was of an average size and weight. Bird and I had produced the perfect tiny human. I felt bad for laughing joyously at the child's screaming face.

With uncomfortable fascination, I watched as the midwife sucked mucus and membrane and other fluids out of the newborn's nose and mouth with her own mouth, spitting the removed contents on the floor afterwards. She repeated the procedure several times. I knew this had to be done, but I was still a bit disgusted by the sight.

Marcurio and Bird were ready, waiting to cut the umbilical cord with a clean knife. They did so simultaneously, symbolic of their joint parenthood. Gjerta then wrapped the child in a blanket and handed the bundle to Marcurio. I felt a hand sweep over my damp hair, and I looked up to see a smiling Yrsarald. I closed my eyes and breathed in deep.

The baby had calmed, and I heard its tiny squeaks and not necessarily unhappy cries. I heard Brelyna cooing and humming at the child. I heard Gjerta moving around me, water splashing as she did what was necessary with the remnants of the birth, checking to make sure I was still in one piece between my legs.

A third hand gently lay on my arm. "All went perfectly, Deborah," I heard Gjerta say. "You and the child are fine. When you're ready, you can heal yourself, which will speed the recovery process."

"I'll heal her," Marcurio said, handing the bundle over to Bird and walking over to me.

"No, I can do it," I protested, sitting up straighter in the tub.

"You just pushed out a baby, Deborah," Yrsarald reminded me, his arms still wrapped protectively around my shoulders. "Let the man heal you."

"Don't worry, Deb," Marcurio said, grinning, "I don't have to touch you."

I laughed, or rather exhaled something equivalent to a laugh. Marcurio and I had somewhat of a running joke about us fondling one another, which never happened outside of the drunken night me, Marcurio and Bird all shared. Yrsarald and Bird both thought us very strange, indeed. I nodded my consent, and Marcurio held out his palms in my direction, soon sending out a swirling, golden light. As it always did, the quick healing process made me groan with pleasure and relief. I felt my stretched muscles and skin reform, rebuild, revitalize.

Brelyna was then at my side. "So, what did you think of the water birth?" she asked me.

"With no strong medicines that I might have had otherwise… it was fine. I should probably get out of this tub, though."

"Yes, soon, but take your time," Gjerta said.

I relaxed for a little while longer. Yrsarald's lips found my temple and gave it a kiss. Marcurio and Bird peered down at their child with curiosity, wonder, and love. Surprisingly, Bird was crying more than the newborn. Brelyna, standing with arms folded over her torso, watched the new family bond. Gjerta flitted about the room, cleaning, and humming a pleasant tune.

I then closed my eyes, laid my head back on Yrsarald's shoulder and smiled, listening to the sounds of my weird little family.

* * *

"Who presents this child to the people of Windhelm, of Eastmarch, and of Skyrim on this, the twenty-ninth day of Sun's Dawn, year two hundred and three of the fourth era?" Helgird, the priestess of Arkay who I had met while investigating the murders in Windhelm, asked the customary question as she stood in front of Marcurio and Bird in the main hall of the palace. The week-old bundled child was being cradled by Marcurio, who for whatever reason was more of a comfort, and kept the baby quiet. I, Yrsarald, Brelyna, Gjerta, several of Marcurio and Bird's local friends, and Bird's family in from Dawnstar were standing somewhat removed. Ulfric as usual was seated in his throne, half-watching, and Jorleif stood close by his Jarl.

"We do," Marcurio and Bird said simultaneously, grinning like a couple of exquisitely happy new fathers.

"And who is to care for this child until it reaches adulthood?" the priestess asked.

"We are," the fathers said together.

Helgird turned the page of her small book. "And should you, the parents, step onto the vast meadows of Sovngarde before this day, who is to take your place in caring for this child?"

Marcurio and Bird turned to me and Bird's older brother, Jorulf, a tall, strong man who no one would ever have guessed was related by blood to Bird if they hadn't seen his similarly-burly father. All three men shared the same fish-hooked smile; their familial relation was obvious. Jorulf and I stepped forward. "We are," the man and I said simultaneously.

"Deborah," Helgird turned to me, "as birth mother of this child, you are First Kin after Marcurio and Bird. Should you step onto the vast meadows of Sovngarde, Jorulf, brother of Bird, will become First Kin." Helgird turned again the page of her small book.

Bird had explained to me the process of the Nord naming ceremony. During the next stage, Jorulf and I, the equivalent of godparents, placed a hand underneath the bundled baby as Bird and Marcurio did the same. The four of us were essentially presenting the infant to the world as its protectors. I couldn't prevent the few teardrops that slowly meandered down my cheeks. I elected to not wipe them away.

"What is this child to be called?" Helgird finally asked.

As birth mother, it was my duty to announce the name. Should birth mothers die during the infant's delivery, the assumed father would take on this role. If there was no father accounted for, the mother's parents would name the child. If no grandparents were around, any adult willing to take on responsibility for said child would make the announcement. Sometimes, the duty fell to orphanage caretakers. By naming the child publicly, the adult both accepted responsibility for the child's welfare and, in my case, linked me to the child as its birth mother, despite not being directly responsible for the child as its immediate parent. It was a complicated custom.

Marcurio, Bird and I had discussed names over the months. We had vetoed many of each other's choices, but had finally settled on two boys' and two girls' names. After the birth, Yrsarald smelled the link between the child and Bird much more clearly, claiming the child smelled like a mixture of me and the father. When I had finally gotten a good look at the child I had grown within me, I knew immediately that Yrsarald had been right – Bird was undoubtedly the father. The child had been born with a tiny fluff of white blonde hair on its head, and had Bird's very wide smile. Marcurio claimed the child had my nose and face, though. But the child definitely had my ears. My odd ears. My sister and I both had a strange mutation of the upper ear, where the left ear had a small bump in what was usually a smooth, curving line, and the right ear had a small chunk missing from the curve. When examined together, the ears looked like two puzzle pieces that could fit together. The bump was called a Darwin's tubercle; I didn't know what the chunk missing was called. The child I had made with Bird carried this curious mutation with it, forever a marker that I was undoubtedly the mother.

The mother. I was a mother. Aside from the little Thrynn-fathered jellybean that had left my womb after Helgen, this was the only child I had ever conceived. I hadn't been thrilled about being pregnant, particularly under the odd circumstances of the conception. But, deep down I knew that in any scenario, in this world or my old world, I would never have elected to abort the pregnancy; it was just something I never thought I could do. Given that the process in Skyrim involved taking a potion that could render the woman infertile, I definitely did not want to abort the pregnancy.

After I knew what happened on the night of the conception, the decision to ask Marcurio and Bird to adopt the child was easy. The reality of the situation, however, was a tad more difficult. My maternal instinct was strong, and I couldn't ignore the biological, hormonal, and indeed emotional link I had felt toward the life inside me as it grew, after the child had been placed on my torso after it was born, and finally, standing in the palace, presenting the child to the world. In the brief moments that the naming ceremony lasted, whenever I was not actually speaking I had to bite down on my tongue to distract my brain from the pain of feeling that a part of me was being taken away. I could not have been happier, nor felt more sure about the rightness of my decision, but my hormones were screaming for me to take the child into my arms and run away. I had to remind myself that this was not goodbye, not in the least, and that I would always be the child's mother. That was part of the deal; Marcurio and Bird would never have agreed to adopt the child otherwise.

As the days passed after the birth and the naming ceremony encroached, I had reconsidered my decision on my preferred name for the child. I knew I had wanted to use an Imperial, or Romanesque name in honor of Marcurio, who I knew was not the biological father but was to be the child's father all the same.

When I had proposed my new chosen name to my friends, they weren't immediately sold on the idea, having never heard the name before. But, when I explained to them the origin of the name, the fact that it was a name from long ago in my world, a strong name used by a people similar to Imperials, they began to warm up to it. When I explained what the name meant, they were sold. They knew as well as I that the child would likely grow up to have blonde hair, and we decided to name the child such.

"Flavia Good-Heart," I announced in a soft voice, smiling down at the little girl as she peered up at her family.


	53. Old Haunts

"And here she is…," Marcurio said as he handed me the hungry one-month-old Flavia.

"Slept through the night  _again_. How very kind of you, little one." I booped Flavia's tiny nose before loosening my robe and settling the baby in my arms for her morning meal.

Marcurio and Bird were staying in my old room at the palace. Yrsarald had insisted on it, and Ulfric didn't care either way so long as the guests didn't cause any trouble and eventually left. Not just anyone was allowed to be a guest of the palace and eat its food, use its baths and latrines, but this was now my family, Yrsarald was now my family, and Ulfric understood.

When Flavia finished her meal, Yrsarald picked her up and began the post-feeding ritual of trying to get the baby to burp. Watching Yrsarald with Flavia admittedly made me want to set out to create a mini-Yrsarald right then and there, but I figured I should put off procreating again until I graduated from the college, and until Meridia was finished with me. Yrsarald knew exactly what I was thinking in that moment; he gave me a stern look and slowly shook his head. He soon smiled, though, and I thought I saw a hint of pink on his tawny, faintly-freckled cheeks. He wanted one, too, but not yet. Not yet.

Burp accomplished, Yrsarald handed the gurgling cherub off to Marcurio, gave me a kiss, and headed downstairs to get to work. Bird, I assumed, was still sleeping next door. When the bedroom door closed, Marcurio asked the inevitable question.

"So, dear Deborah," he said, sitting down in the other large, cushioned chair with his daughter in his arms, "when are you going to tie yourself to that beautiful man and pop out a few little ones of your own?"

"Hmph," I sighed, and grinned. "I need to graduate from the college, Marc. And I need to know what Meridia has planned for me. I do not want to be eight months pregnant when some sign from the heavens comes from her. That would be not good. Not good at all."

"No, but you can't put your life on hold." His lips pressed to Flavia's forehead as the baby settled in for a nap.

I watched him watching Flavia for a moment. "Marc," I asked him, quietly, not wanting to disturb the drowsy baby, "do you enjoy working at the alchemist's shop?"

"It's fine. Why? Please don't tell me you want the job. You are more important than that."

"And so are you, Marc. You should find a job that lets you use your skills. One that, maybe, requires you to learn alchemy, but not as a shop assistant."

"You sound like you have one in mind," Marcurio said, an eyebrow arching.

I gazed at my friend, a dead-serious look in my eyes. "Court Mage," I whispered.

Marcurio's arms, which had been rocking the baby, stilled. "What?"

"Apprentice Court Mage. Here, with Wuunferth. I was going to be his apprentice; I was already his assistant, before…. But, I think I will not do this. I want to recommend you to him, Marc. What do you think?"

His arms recommenced their gentle rocking. "I don't know."

"Think about it. You and Bird could stay in Windhelm. In the palace. Windhelm is close to Winterhold, and I will want to travel between the college and here anyway, once I go back. I don't want to be away from Yrsarald too much, and he has to stay here. He won't leave his job, and I don't want him to. I won't go back to the college until Flavia is finished breast-feeding, so, you have some time to think about it. But do not take too long to think, because Wuunferth may already be looking for my replacement."

"Deborah, I don't think Ulfric will want me as his Court Mage."

"Why not? You are better than I am with most magic, and I doubt Wuunferth will die soon. You will get good with alchemy, studying with him."

"That's not why."

"Why, then?" I frowned. "Because you are married to a man?"

"No, Deb, that's not why." I waited for an explanation. Marcurio sighed, and then answered me. "Because I am an Imperial."

My brow creased. "And? You are not in the Imperial  _army_."

"Deb, Skyrim is in the middle of a war, fighting for its freedom away from the Empire."

"I know."

"The Empire is run by Imperials. Or, was. The Empire is sort of… well, not dead, but… weak. Anyway… I'm fairly certain Ulfric will want a Nord as his Court Mage, like Wuunferth."

"There are no Nord mages, Marc. There was Onmund, but…. I doubt Ulfric will care what is in your blood. You are a man of Skyrim. You were born here, yes?"

"Yes, in Riften."

"Then I do not see the problem." I crossed my arms over my swollen chest. "But, if you think it may be a problem, I will talk to Wuunferth and then to Ulfric. Ulfric will listen to me. If not me, he will listen to Yrsarald, and Yrsarald likes you and Bird and Flavia; he will want you around as much as I do."

Marcurio sat back in his chair and contemplated the possibilities.

* * *

"A letter from Ralof," the Stormcloak courier announced, turning to me. "He says hello, Deborah." He handed me a letter with my name on it. "And the report from the southeast. A  _trefna_  occurred near Shor's Stone, at the fort, just before a dragon attacked. I await your orders, Jarl Ulfric." The courier stepped out of the map room and into the main hall for a well-deserved meal.

"Another dragon attack?" I asked.

"Seventeen dead," Yrsarald read the report, "eight Stormcloaks and nine Imperials. The fort was partially destroyed, and the Imperials retreated. Twenty-one Stormcloaks were seriously injured; Imperials injuries unknown."

"Sounds like they could use a healer out there," Ulfric said, looking to me.

I turned to the Jarl, aghast. "I cannot go out into the field, Ulfric, I am still breast-feeding. If I do not lose milk regularly, my breasts will turn into stone and fall off." The exaggeration may have been overkill, but I at least got the point across.

"Fine, then," Ulfric said with a sneer, perhaps greatly disturbed by the visual of my laden breasts falling off. "Send your Imperial mage friend, the dark-haired one. He can heal, yes?"

"Marcurio just had a child, Ulfric. You cannot send him out to battle. He isn't a battlemage!"

"I am not sending anyone into  _battle_ , Deborah," Ulfric corrected. "And you,  _you_  just had a child, not Marcurio nor the other one…. The man could heal a few soldiers and be back before the child realizes he's gone."

"I'll go," sounded a voice from the stairwell entrance. Marcurio had come down. He turned to me. "I'm sorry, Deb. I think Flavia's hungry."

I stood and walked up to my friend. "You don't have to, Marc."

"I know, but Ulfric's right. I can help, so, I will."

I frowned, and trotted up the steps to feed Flavia, fully intent on telling Bird – who had quit his job as a courier to be a full-time dad and be with Marcurio – what his husband had just offered to do.

* * *

_Deborah,_

_Before I write about other things, you should know that Gerdur, Hod and Haming are safe in Whiterun. Much of Riverwood was destroyed, but Eyleif was there when the dragon attacked, and she was able to save many people, despite being heavy with child. For now, those who survived the attack are either in Whiterun or Ivarstead, or had gone their own way, like Faendal and Camilla. I don't know where they are, but I'm sure they're fine._

_So, yes, I am a father. Eyleif had a son, and we named him Sighulf, after Ulfric, and for her own victory in saving many of Riverwood's citizens. I was able to be there shortly after the birth, thank Talos. As I write to you I write to Whiterun as well. If you are ever near there, please stop by. I know Gerdur would be happy to see you, and Eyleif wants to meet the woman from the future. If you are ever south of Windhelm, come to a place called Shor's Stone. This is where I will be for some time, I think, even though a dragon knocked down part of the fort near here._

_Please, write to me and tell me of the College, and what you have been doing lately. I hope you're well._

_Ralof_

Eyleif. Eyleif, Eyleif, Eyleif. I had no idea why I was so jealous of learning that she had bared Ralof's child. Perhaps, I admitted to myself, I was still regretting never bedding the man. Briefly, I wondered how different my life would have been had I stayed in Riverwood, waiting for Ralof to return from war, oblivious to his once-secret relationship with Eyleif. I, along with many others in the town, would have likely been killed during the dragon attack. Eyleif was a hero. Good for her.

"Ralof, hmm?" Yrsarald asked, a twinge of jealousy in his voice belying his smile.

"Yes Ralof, without… whom… I'd probably be dead."

"Truly?"

"Ralof saved my life. Helgen, remember? I do not think I would be alive if he hadn't been sitting across from me in the cart when we were all arrested, and then hadn't decided to save me later."

"Someone else would have saved you if Ralof had not."

"I don't know…," I said, settling into the large, comfy chair with Flavia at my breast. "In my world, people talk about fate, but we do not really know if fate exists. People make their own decisions. But, here, we have gods and Daedra Lords. Meridia  _told_ me that they are not all-powerful, that they and the gods still need people to do things for them. That is why they claim people as their champions…. I think the gods sent Ralof to help me. I  _know_  they did. Meridia told me that people were patient with me, to help me learn Norren. Ralof was one of the first. He saved my life  _and_  helped me to be like a Nord."

"I'm only saying, Deborah, that you are important enough for the gods to want  _anyone_  to save you."

I gazed across the room to Yrsarald who had settled in bed for the evening. "You  _would_  say that," I said, blushing and smiling, looking away from him and down at the suckling Flavia.

"Perhaps they want me to save you, too," he said.

"Save me? What are you saving me from, someone else's bed?" I teased.

Yrsarald frowned.

 _Crap._ "I'm sorry, that was not meant as it sounded."  _I am a jackass._ I didn't have to be psychic to know that Yrsarald's mind immediately went to Stenvar. Or Ralof.

"No, it's fine. I didn't mean I thought you needed saving. You don't. Despite being scared sometimes, you have always been brave." His frown twitched up to hint at a smile. "But, perhaps one day you will need saving. I want to be there if that happens."

I smiled at my partner, lover, friend. "My furious protector."

Yrsarald stood from the bed and walked up to me. "My honeybee," he whispered before bending down to kiss my forehead and then my lips. His thick fingers then delicately caressed Flavia's tiny cheek.

"This bee has a stick," I said, grinning defiantly.

" _Nin_ ," Yrsarald said.

"Hmm?"

"Bees  _nin_ , not stick."

Sting. I giggled. " _Nin._ Yes. I do."

Yrsarald chuckled.

"And, be careful, I think you are getting too attached to this one," I indicated Flavia. "She is not mine, remember."

"She came from you; I cannot help but feel attached. It is in my blood to feel so." Flavia was finally finished and Yrsarald happily took her for her burping.

I watched as he performed the ritualistic burping dance. Pat, pat. Swivel, swivel, swivel. "Be kind and perhaps I will give you your own little cub someday."

Yrsarald stilled and stared at me. "I do not want a  _cub_."

I was confused. "I didn't mean a real cub, Yrsa. I meant a baby."

"I know…," he continued his dance, "but, I don't want a child like me."

"Any child of yours will  _thankfully_  be like you. But I am not a werebear. I do not think we can make werebear children. Just big… big Nord god-like children." I laughed at the mental image of a son of Yrsarald's growing to be even larger than he was. Yrsarald was not smiling. "Yrsa, if you are worried about what a child of ours will be, find someone to ask. Go to Solstheim."

"I cannot leave here."

"Alright, so, write. You must know  _someone_  there, still."

"No, I do not. I only found out my parents had died because they were oddly in contact, occasionally, with nearby human villagers, and someone was passing through their village. They sent a note with the traveler with the mere hope that it would get to me. I'm not sure I would even remember where that village is, and I certainly don't know where I would find other werebears. I don't even know when the next gathering will be."

"Alright, well, you said werewolves exist. Do you know any?"

"No. Nor have I met one. I just know they exist."

I sighed. Flavia spit up. Yrsarald growled and cleaned up the mess from his bare shoulder.

"Yrsa…," I called, softly.

"Hmm?" he asked while rocking Flavia in wide arches, slowly.

"It doesn't matter."

"What doesn't matter?"

"What you are. It doesn't matter, not to me. I want to give you children, someday, if you want them. I don't care if they are human, bear, bird, horse… it doesn't matter."

Yrsarald gave a weak smile before leaving the room to go next door to return Flavia to her parents. When he returned, he took me by the hand, stood me up, and pressed his lips to mine. His hands drifted to my waist and pulled my body flush against his. His trimmed facial hair tickled my face less, except for the two little braids in his beard.

"So…," he said, pressing his forehead to mine, "you want to give me 'cubs', hmm?"

I grinned. "Someday, it might be nice…."

"How many?"

I laughed. "Ehh, five."

"Five!?"

"Five. One human, one bear, one bird, one horse, and one bee. Crazy, crazy family."

Yrsarald chuckled. "You are so very strange."

"You know you like me that way," I whispered into his ear.

Yrsarald gave a low, pleasant growl.

"Down, bear," I said, grinning.

In his deep, hushed, thickly-accented brogue, Yrsarald said, "You know a bear cannot resist honey."

At his sexy-sounding but ultimately lame response, I burst out in laughter. "That was…," I kept laughing, "I do not know your word."

"Horrible, I know," Yrsarald grinned. "Can I kiss you anyway?"

I nodded, still laughing. As Yrsarald kissed me, I ran my hands over his chest, something I did often. He had a beautiful, fuzzy chest that I could rarely resist touching when presented with it. When my hands swept over the bare patch just below his neck, I backed away and forced myself to stare at the scar tissue. The patch of pink, hardened skin was a small reminder of the day I almost killed Yrsarald with an arrow. "Why did my healing magic not heal this?" I gingerly ran my fingers over the scar tissue.

"For the same reason I have these scars," Yrsarald answered, motioning to his left shoulder, his right torso, and right thigh. In each area he had a small, rounded scar.

"Because it was done by magic?" I asked.

"Yes."

Much like the frostbite injury I had given him, healing magic could only do so much to fix what destructive magic had broken. "Is that also why your tattoo is still there, not healed when you changed to be a werebear? Because it is a magic tattoo?"

Yrsarald nodded. "Something like that. The tattoo was made by a werebear shaman. Just like I can never be cured, because being a werebear is in my blood, this tattoo will never fade."

I lowered my lips to the scar I had given him from the frostbite, to his left shoulder that was pierced by an ice spear so long ago, and then to his bear paw tattoo, partially hidden by chest hair. "You might not believe me, or be glad for me to say this, but…." I slid my hands around the man's waist as far as I could while looking up at his smiling face. "I like that you are werebear. I like that you are warm like a campfire, fuzzy like a fur cloak, and that you can smell what I feel. I know you do not like what you are, but… I do not think it is so bad. Not completely."

Yrsarald smiled broadly before leaning forward to kiss me. He then swept me up in his arms – something that had become a habit – laid me down in bed, and proceeded to cover me in kisses.

* * *

"I'll only be gone one week, maybe a little longer." Marcurio was packing for his journey to the Stormcloak camp near a town called Shor's Stone. He had agreed to take with him my reply to Ralof.

"I know, but you've only  _just_  accepted starting as Wuunferth's assistant," Bird said. "I would have thought that would mean you'd be… I don't know… enchanting things or making potions. Here. In the palace. Able to come home at the end of the day."

I was sitting with Flavia, waiting for her to fall asleep, though that was unlikely with her parents having a loud disagreement in the same room. I watched silently as Marcurio packed his essentials.

"I'll be fine, Bird. You'll be fine. Deb's here. Yrsarald's here. Gjerta's still around if you need her."

"I'm not worried about being alone with Flavia." Bird was nearly shouting. "I just don't want you coming home without your head!"

Marcurio looked up from his knapsack, frowning. He moved around the corner of the bed to his husband, cupped the man's face in his palms, and kissed him. "What did I tell you about being a mage? What did I say, years ago?"

The corners of Bird's mouth dropped. "Mages don't shy away."

Marcurio smiled and kissed the tip of Bird's nose. "Right. What good is being a decent healer if all I ever do is heal women's  _leginongumen_?" Marcurio turned to me. "No offense."

"Hmm?" I asked. "Oh, I don't even know what you said, Marc. I think I have heard that word before, but I don't know. Is it like  _loskanonguma_? I've heard that before, and I know what that means…." Yrsarald had made innocent joking comments about my stretched vagina, or  _loskanonguma._ Even with the full-body heal Marcurio had provided me and my subsequent self-heal spells, my birth canal was still not fully ready for certain activities until Flavia was about one month old.

My two friends stared wide-eyed at me before bursting into laughter.

"What?" I asked. "Did I understand it wrong?"

My friends kept on laughing for a while until Marcurio finally caught his breath. "Sweetie," he said, turning to me, " _loskanonguma_  is not really word, but… a nickname.  _Leginonguma_  is the correct word."

"Oh," I said, embarrassed. "Well, what does  _loskanonguma_ mean, then?"

Bird snorted, unable to stop laughing.

Marcurio cleared his throat, and answered my question. "Love-passageway."

* * *

"I am told orcs have been spotted in the Imperial ranks," Ulfric said over breakfast.

Sitting next to Yrsarald, who sat across from Ulfric, I couldn't help but overhear. "Orcs?" I asked. "Truly?" Ulfric ignored me and turned back to Yrsarald and Galmar.

"This is not surprising," Galmar said after chugging honey water. "We fought alongside a few in the Great War."

Ulfric sighed through his nose. Jorleif then walked in, whispered something to the Jarl, and then walked off again. "Hmm…," Ulfric growled.

"What is it?" Yrsarald asked.

"The history scholar is here to help identify all of Calixto's  _skraen_ ," Ulfric answered.

"Oh, right," Yrsarald said and continued eating.

"History scholar? Of Skyrim?" I asked.

"Yes." Ulfric chewed while gazing at me.

Apparently I needed to fill in the blanks. "I am a history scholar," I said.

"Not of Skyrim," Ulfric countered.

"No, but do you not think I would like to meet a history scholar of Skyrim?"

Tharstan Eiriksen was his name. He was a traveling historian, originally from Solitude, a town far to the west of Windhelm. He was knowledgeable of all things regarding Skyrim's history, and he was in Windhelm to catalogue the belongings of the Butcher, Calixto Corrium, who had a vast collection of oddities and artifacts. The house was full of display cases and shelves, and crates tucked away that undoubtedly contained more artifacts.

"My assistant and I will get to work," Tharstan said to me. "You can watch, and learn… help, if you like."

And learn I did. I learned about the vanished Dwarven, or  _Dwemer_  culture, and their artifacts. All of their artifacts were made of the same metal, which looked like brass. I also learned about elven metal, something of a greenish gold, light and strong, and the weapons and armor it was used to make. Elodie had a dagger made from this metal. I learned about Snow Elves, and the  _Falmer_ , their history, and their weapons and armor which were made out of some horrible-sounding, giant cockroach-like monster that spit poison. Calixto had collected other, less interesting items, such as gemstones, soul gems, and even had an extensive insect collection, each pinned to a display wall, preserved.

"Aldine, start opening those crates," Tharstan ordered his assistant. Feeling like a freeloader to this educational experience, I helped Aldine with opening the first crate, and then helped sort out the contents. Tharstan's assistant couldn't have been more than twenty by the looks of her, and I wondered if she was his daughter. I didn't ask.

The first crate we opened contained a random assortment of objects ranging from books to gemstones to blocks of engraved stone.

"This is such an odd thing," I said.

"What is?" Aldine asked.

"All of this. The owner of this house was a murderer. A necromancer. Crazy. But he truly did collect things."

"I suppose he was a collector before he was a murderer," she suggested.

"Yes," I agreed. "I think he just became very crazy, and did horrible things."

I helped remove the objects from the crate and organize them into categories. Books. Gems. Jewelry. Miscellaneous. The last object in the crate was a fairly large, heavy, roughly-shaped wooden box with a hinged back. I opened it, and was confused by its contents. "It is a… cut rock."

"Cut rock?" Aldine asked. I spun around the box to show her its contents. "Hmm. Miscellaneous pile, for now."

Before putting the box into the growing pile of random things, I couldn't resist examining the rock. It was almost shaped like an ostrich egg, though slightly less round, and was about the same size, though a bit smaller. It was heavy, but not too heavy, so I knew the rock was not terribly dense. Other than the fact that the rock was faceted on its entire surface, as if it had been held to a whetstone at all angles, there was something odd about the rock that nagged at my brain. I had to pick it up to figure it out before moving on.

" _Help! Help!" A man's voice called to me from what looked to be a ruin. "I can hear you. Who's out there? Help me! I can't see!"_

" _Who's that?" I called. "Where are you? Are you hurt?"_

" _I can't see! Ohh, gods, where is my wife? Please, help me!"_

" _Hold on, I'm coming!" I sheathed my shortsword and signaled for my small troop to follow._

" _We don't have time to save some random man, Garus," Valerio complained._

" _Don't have time?" I turned, shooting Valerio a scolding look. "It's a man who can't see. We can grab him and go." I walked up the stepped hill and found an entrance to the ruin. "Hello?" I called._

" _Please! Help me! I'm inside!"_

"A Game at Dinner," Aldine muttered to herself, writing the title of the book on a piece of paper before placing the book in a pile behind her. She reached for the next. "The Warrior's Charge," she muttered again, repeating the process.

I stared at Aldine and then looked to my left hand which contained the cut stone. The stone was glowing, faintly, which it had not done before. It was warming against my palm.

"The Red Kitchen Reader," Aldine continued. "These are odd books to have."

I felt a tingle in my left palm and my vision went white.

" _Damn it, Hakon, come back here, boy. Hakon!"_

" _Your mutt's more trouble than he is helpful, Stevan."_

" _Shut up," I yelled at my second-in-command, Karl. "Hakon!" I stomped down the stepped hill, certain my dog had decided to sniff around the ruin, or perhaps thought that the stone, winged statue at the top was an actual person. "Stupid dog."_

" _He's inside!" I heard someone shout._

" _What? How in Oblivion did he get inside?" I asked, descending a set of stone steps._

" _Door's open."_

_I peered inside and heard Hakon barking. "Shit. Hakon!" I waited for my dog to come. And waited some more. "I'm going in."_

" _There's probably draugr in there," I heard Karl say._

" _I don't care. I'm getting my dog." And then I heard a distant yelp of pain. "Hakon!" I screamed, entering the ruin. "Shit, it's dark. I need a torch."_

" _Stevan, we have to get to the camp before dark."_

_Another yelp of pain carried from deep inside the ruin. "TORCH!" I shouted back at Karl._

"Some journals…. Nothing special." Aldine was still sorting through the books from the crate we had just opened.

I stared at her, but she was preoccupied.  _What the hell is going on?_  I looked again at the cut rock, which was still glowing, still warm. And then I saw a shadow move across or within the rock, which I had previously thought was opaque.

"Aldine?" I called, looking up at her.

" _You bastard!" I lunged at the Imperial soldier who had been kicking Hakon's lifeless body. My axe entered the man's neck, ending his own life. My men set upon the other Imperials as I knelt before my dog; he had been impaled through the lungs by the soldier's shortsword. "Bastards," I whispered, giving my old friend one last pat on the head._

_I turned to the skirmish just in time to watch an Imperial shove his shortsword down into the top of Karl's shoulder, piercing his lung._

_Behind the soldiers, in the shadows, stood a black-robed figure with a long, pointed orange beard. Before my vision went black, I saw the torchlight reflect off of his toothy grin._

Aldine blinked up at me. "Yes?" she asked, holding a small journal in one hand and her list in another.

"What?" I asked.

"You said my name. What is it? Is it the rock? Did you find something?"

"I…," I looked down at the once-again opaque and cold cut rock. "No. No. Nevermind." I stuffed the rock inside its wooden box as Aldine returned to cataloging books. While she wasn't looking, I grabbed the cut rock, slid it into my mage's robe pocket, and replaced in the wooden box a similarly-sized chunk of engraved stone. I had never stolen an artifact before, but, unless I was going crazy, the cut rock was giving me visions. I had to keep it.

As I stood to pick up the already-catalogued books behind Aldine, the house shook, and the pile of books toppled over. I grasped at a tall bookshelf to steady myself, which was likely a poor decision, as bookshelves had a tendency to tip over in earthquakes.

"What is that!?" Aldine squealed.

"Earth-shake," I said as calmly as possible, though my wide eyes likely belied my demeanor. The house and ground stilled immediately. "Strange…," I said, standing. "That was quick. The last one was longer."

"Last one!?" I could see the fear in Aldine's eyes.

Tharstan trotted over to us. "Everyone alright?" he asked.

"Yes. Come on, let us see what is happening," I said, making for the door. Outside, everything seemed fine. I spotted a guard on his routine rounds. He was gazing at the sky. "What happened?" I called to him.

The guard turned to me, and in a dire tone said, "Dragon."


	54. Disillusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is! The finale of Part 1. Stay tuned for a one-shot teaser between the time Part 1 ends and Part 2 begins. I'll also be finishing other projects that I left hanging (sorry if any of you are waiting for those…). Be sure to "follow" my profile in order to get an alert for future story postings.
> 
> As always, comments/critiques/reviews are always welcome either publicly or privately (on FFnet or Tumblr). When those of you who are playing catch-up finally get to reading this chapter, please let me know what you thought of the story as a whole! Also, take the opportunity now to ask questions – I will answer them in an Author Note in the teaser chapter (but will not give away spoilers!)
> 
> Many thanks to my beta-readers/consultants at FFnet timeywimeyspaceywacey and KiraMackey, who have been great help and great friends. Credit must be given to timeywimeyspacewacey, whose character Indis, when absorbing a dragon's soul, also absorbs the dragon's personality. I had a different idea of what would happen, but as the ideas are similar, I wanted to tip my theoretical hat to timey.
> 
> Finally, I will leave you with this, hopefully in itself a little teaser: the one-shot that I will post sometime after this chapter is posted will be called: "Dragonbane".

Ever since being ripped from my old world and pulled into Skyrim, Earth songs would occasionally pop into my mind – perhaps a symptom of homesickness. It happened quite often while I was studying at the college at Winterhold. I would be practicing my aim with lightning magic and suddenly start singing songs I didn't even like anymore, like "I Saw the Sign" by Ace of Base, which I had not even listened to in perhaps a decade. Not the entire song – I didn't even remember the entire song – but just the chorus played in my memory. Not even just the chorus – no. Three lines repeated over, and over, and over and over in my mind whenever that damn song resurfaced from my deep memory. I recalled shooting at the white, glowing orbs of energy to the rhythm of the song while I sang, badly, the already bad tune.

" _I saw the sign, and it opened up my eyes, and I am happy now I'm living without, I left you – oh, oh oh oh…_

_I saw the sign, and it opened up my eyes, and I am happy now I'm living without, I left you – oh, oh oh oh…_

_I saw the sign, and it opened up my eyes, and I am happy now I'm living without, I left you – oh, oh oh oh…"_

I had often found myself singing Earth songs in English to Flavia while she was nursing. It wasn't baby songs or lullabies, just songs that I liked, and that I missed hearing. Yrsarald never said so, but I knew my singing probably hurt his ears. I wasn't exactly tone-deaf, but I definitely could not sing. Why Yrsarald actually  _asked_  me to sing sometimes was beyond my comprehension. Still, Flavia seemed to enjoy the aural entertainment. Whenever I sang songs to her, I did so as if they were a lullaby, despite occasionally wanting to get up and dance to my own rendition. The day she turned one month old, I had peered into her dark, velvety blue eyes and sang, slowly, one of my favorite songs.

" _Stop callin', stop callin', I donwanna think anymore. I left my head and my heart on the dance floor…."_

Flavia loved Lady Gaga.

Outside of Calixto's repossessed house, I stared at the guard, who stared back at me. At that moment, another random song popped into my mind. I silently scolded the mental phantom of Ani DiFranco for trying to distract me.

 _Generally my generation wouldn't be caught dead workin' for the man._  The song played in my mind, demanding to be heard as I lifted my gaze to the sky.  _Generally I agree with them; trouble is you gotta have yourself an alternate plan._ I saw no sign of a dragon.

"Deborah?" I heard Aldine call to me.

" _What if there were no damsels in distress?_ " I spoke aloud in English.

"What?" Aldine asked.

That's when I heard the roar, deep and voluminous and terrifying.

_Dragon._

_Dragon._

Images flashed in my mind of Helgen and of all the dreams that I had had over the last two years. Fire, destruction, death.

I ran, ran as fast as I could, forgoing my cloak which remained inside Calixto's house. The rock which I had pocketed repeatedly crashed against my thigh as I bolted around houses and down snow-covered streets toward the palace. Toward Yrsarald. Toward Flavia and Bird. I had to convince myself that Marcurio was safe, far away in Shor's Stone where a dragon had already attacked.  _Lightning rarely strikes the same place twice_ , I tried to convince myself.

I had just entered the courtyard in front of the palace when I crashed into a guard. We landed in a heap in the snow.

"Shit, Deb, I'm sorry." It was Hrina. She helped me stand. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. Did you see it!?"

"Yeah, a dragon flew in from the west, then headed south. It only flew over the city for a moment."

A southerly wind carried a roar.

"I have to go," Hrina said, shouldering her bow and running toward the south city gate.

I ran into the palace. Yrsarald was in the main hall with Ulfric and Galmar. "There you are," Yrsarald said, running to meet me and wrapping his arms around me.

"I was at that house with the history scholar. I ran after the ground shook." I turned to Ulfric. "The dragon flew south. What do we do?"

" _WE_  do nothing," Yrsarald said sternly, holding my upper arms and glaring down at me. "You stay here. I'll round up people to get inside the palace. The stones are stronger, here."

"Yrsa!" I used the nickname for him that he told me not to, not in front of "the men". I didn't care. "I am a mage! I can help! Can arrows even enter a dragon's skin!?"

"Our guards are about to find out," Ulfric answered.

I then turned and walked up to Ulfric. " _You_  remember. Helgen had archers  _and_ battlemages. I can do  _this!_ " With my final words I formed the concentrated ball of lightning that Wuunferth had taught me. If I didn't release it, its energy would be resorbed into my body. One, maybe two hits with this ball of lightning and I was sure a dragon would drop dead from the sky. For the moment, I let the energy resorb.

Ulfric and Yrsarald exchanged looks, silently holding a conversation about me, no doubt.

"Ulfric!" I squealed.

"Go," the Jarl's deep voice reverberated in my head. "But not without guards to shield you should the dragon decide you would taste better roasted…."

I glared at Yrsarald a moment before turning and running toward the palace doors.

"Wait!" a voice called. I turned to see Wuunferth, shuffling towards me as quickly as he could. "Take this," he said, handing me a silver necklace with a circular pendant. The pendant was shimmering a pale blue.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It will help." Wuunferth gave a tiny smile. "Now, go!"

I had made to leave, but I stopped myself. I turned to see Yrsarald, gazing in my direction, a dismal look on his face. Tossing the necklace over my neck, I trotted up to him and leapt into his arms for one final, desperate embrace; I had never felt a kiss so exquisite. Pulling myself away from Yrsarald in that moment was perhaps the hardest thing I ever had to do.

As I ran, the rock in my pocket continued to bruise my flesh as it was jostled along the way. Two guards tailed me. By the time I had reached the main plaza of the city which stood just inside the southern gate, the roars from the south had stopped, and guards had re-entered the city. They stood, stunned, looking at one another and at me.

"What?" I asked. "Is it dead? Did you kill it?"

"No," a guard said before removing his helm. He wiped the sweat and the clinging blond curls from his brow. "An orc did."

"An orc?"

"A big one. In strange-looking armor. He…," the blond guard looked to his comrades. "I-I'm not sure what happened."

"What do you mean you're not sure?" I asked the guard.

"He shouted it out of the sky…," a black-haired woman said, half-sitting on a rock ledge built into the city wall, a dazed look in her eyes.

"Shouted…?" I recalled my conversation over a year ago with Stenvar _. Yelling. Shouting. The Dragonborn can shout. Ulfric can shout. Dragons and dragon hunters went together. Dragonborn. Dragonborn. There had been rumors of a dragon hunter; it was an orc. An orc was the Dragonborn._

"He was so big. I'd never seen anyone that big before," the blond guard recalled. "The dragon landed on the field south of the stables. The orc just walked right up to the thing and killed it before it even had a chance to breathe fire at him. He moved so fast. The end of his warhammer just… just crashed right into its skull. I-I thought dragons were supposed to be… practically stone, that no weapon could kill one."

"Obviously the legends were wrong. It's just an animal," another guard said, "just a big animal."

More guards came in through the south gate and stopped when they saw us. They had already removed their helms; they looked like they'd seen a ghost.

"Malfrith, what is it?" the blond guard asked one of the guards who just arrived.

Malfrith, a strong blonde Nord woman, stared at us, mouth agape. "He's… Dragonborn. The orc. He's Dragonborn. The dragon, it's… gone. Gone. Its skin just vanished. Just its bones are there. H-he's still there, now, collecting the dragon's teeth. There's a Dragonborn…." Malfrith's eyes glazed over and she turned and walked away toward the Candlehearth inn.

The group of guards and I exchanged looks. I finally spoke. "I will tell Ulfric." I was mostly relieved that I didn't have to face a dragon, but admittedly a bit disappointed. I had truly felt ready to defend the city with whatever training as a mage I had.

I didn't get far from the main plaza when another roar sounded from the sky. I looked straight up, following the sound. Nothing. I looked around the horizon of the city walls. Nothing. I clutched the pendant Wuunferth had given me, wondering if I was truly ready for this, ready to use my magic when it mattered, alone, not fighting alongside a dozen other mages.

The roar sounded again, louder, from the west. I turned, watching, waiting. Guards spread out from the plaza in various directions. Some made their way to the ramparts, ready with loaded bows for their chance to down a dragon. I walked, slowly, across and around the plaza, waiting, heart thudding hard enough to hear.

And then it came again, closer, but not close enough for me to attack. A green dragon swooped down over the city, breathing a steady stream of fire. The dragon disappeared to the east and then returned, a thunderous roar escaping its maw that shook the ground beneath me.

Gathering my wits, I brought forth my powerful ball of lightning, letting the magic recycle itself within me until I was ready to aim.  _Don't miss. Don't miss_ , Wuunferth had said. Missing would result in an enormous waste of my magical energy, and I didn't have any magical potions in my pocket to help restore it. Eternal moments passed before the dragon swooped again over the city, but it was too fast for me to aim well enough to feel comfortable shooting.

A thunderclap echoed through the stone-lined streets, and I wondered if a storm was brewing above the overcast sky. I saw the dragon again stop and hover over the north. The palace. Again I ran north, knocking over a guard as I did so. My lips were beginning to chap and my fingers beginning to freeze in the cold, but I had to help. As I ran past stone houses, catching glimpses of the occasional wooden structure set aflame, the dragon flew south again over my head, and swerved to the east.

" _SHIT FUCK_ ," I shouted in English, but continued north to the palace, to the place I wanted to protect most.

I heard the roar above me, northeast of me.

_Run. Run. Don't slip on the snow-covered stone._

Another thunderclap sounded – it came from the north, from the palace. Nearly out of breath when I arrived, I saw Ulfric standing in the courtyard, Galmar and a suite of guards by his side, loaded bows at the ready. Yrsarald was ushering into the palace a stream of terrified citizens.

I readied my ball of lightning once more as I kept my eyes on the white sky. The dragon reappeared behind and above me, hovering, roaring furiously until a thunderclap sounded to my left and the dragon jerked, seemingly in pain. Despite the ringing in my ear distracting me, I let go of my concentrated ball of lightning. The magic hit the dragon on its belly, garnering a squealing, high-pitched roar from the beast. Arrows flew, but most fell back to the ground, failing to pierce the dragon's hide.

The dragon flew off to the west, roaring once more. I put my hand to my left ear and gave it a rub, wondering what had caused it to ring. I looked to my left at Ulfric, who had his eyes on the sky. Thunder came from the west just before the dragon returned, again spewing fire.

"SHIELDS!" someone shouted, and I was instantly covered by a circle of heavy steel.

I was staring into the face of a terrified guard. "Are shields truly good against dragon-fire!?" I asked him.

"Wuunferth made them fire-resistant after Helgen," he answered. I turned my head to examine the shield closer. Indeed, the metal shimmered red, an indication of its enchantment. The necklace Wuunferth had given me was also enchanted, but I couldn't tell with what.

The shield above me disappeared when a roar sounded from the north. The dragon was relentless. I readied again my lightning ball, waiting for it to hover once more. I was standing behind Ulfric when the dragon reappeared over the palace and stayed there. I watched as Ulfric tilted his head up to the sky and thrust his upper body forward as if spitting at the beast. Thunder then vibrated the ground and rattled my bones. Ulfric had shouted at the dragon. Shouted thunder. The lightning magic resorbed into my body as I stared at the Jarl.

Wuunferth had by then emerged from the palace and began sending bursts of frost at the dragon's wings. The dragon roared and suddenly struggled to keep itself aloft; I then noticed small tears appearing in the wing membranes. "WINGS!" I shouted. "AIM FOR THE WINGS!"

I abandoned my goal of shocking the dragon to death and opted for damage. I knew a frost spell; I could do what Wuunferth did. I raised my hands and sent forth a steady stream of ice at each of the stunned dragon's wings. I heard another thunderclap sound in front of me. Ulfric's thunderclap. The dragon had started to fly away but the thunder stopped it long enough for more arrows and frost to hit their mark. Finally, the dragon began to sink. It tried to remain airborne, frantically flapping its massive, mangled wings, but eventually descended slowly to the southwest of the palace, toward the marketplace.

"MARKET!" a guard shouted. Everyone ran toward the square, which wasn't far from the palace.

When we arrived, the dragon had landed on top of several kiosks and had begun thrashing about, shattering anything not made of stone. It breathed its fire breath in one direction, thankfully away from us, but its spaded tail was a giant fly swatter, and we were the flies. We couldn't get near it.

I stood back and sent forth a mix of lightning and frost, hoping to cause both nerve pain to the dragon and damage its skin at the same time. Ulfric was beside me when he sent forth another thunderous shout, again on my left side, causing more ringing. I would have to smack him later, if we survived.

Several guards took opportunity of the temporarily stunned dragon to leap onto it, avoiding the tall fin and various spikes protruding along its spine. I held off using my magic momentarily. The guard's axes hacked away at the dragon, concentrating on its wing joints and tail. The dragon squealed. I once more sent forth magic, lightning bolts from both hands, concentrated on the dragon's head.  _Fry its brain. Short-circuit its nervous system._

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ulfric take his white-shimmering axe into his hand, walk toward the dragon's lower neck, reach down and back, and swing the axe forward and up. The blade sent a shockwave through the dragon's body, its enchantment perhaps interacting with my lightning magic. Finally, the dragon stilled. Ulfric removed his axe violently, bringing forth a spurt of dark blood. The Jarl turned and gazed at me, face rock-steady and splattered crimson-black.

Moments later, Yrsarald arrived, grimacing in pain from the overuse of his bad leg.

"How many?" Ulfric asked him.

"Five, last I heard," Yrsarald answered him, and then nodded toward the dragon. "Dead?"

Ulfric gave a small nod, and then turned back to the dragon. Slowly, he walked up to its skull, staring into an open, glassy, fist-sized reptilian eye. Without warning, the Jarl lunged at the dragon's neck, his lightning-enchanted axe landing between two small spines. He swung the axe four times into the dead beast, eventually severing the spinal cord and neck muscles. The heavy head flopped to one side. The Jarl then swung his axe a fifth time, aimed at the head, and I wondered if this was for the number five that Yrsarald had reported.  _Five dead?_

His anger spent, Ulfric turned away from the butchered beast and fell to his knees in the middle of the market square.

I approached the bloodied Jarl. "Are you injured?" I asked him. Ulfric shook his head. I looked around the square. "Is anyone injured?" Silence, and shaking heads. "At the palace?" I asked Yrsarald.

"Wuunferth is healing them," he answered.

"Well, good," I said. I was exhausted, anyway.

I then turned to the dragon. I had never seen one up close, and I imagined neither had anyone standing there today. Branching from the back of its head was a row of lethally sharp spikes connected by a membrane, similar to what paleontologists thought a Triceratops had, but smaller and more delicate. I stepped closer to its head, tentative, almost expecting it to not actually be dead despite being decapitated. I reached out and touched its snout, running the pads of my numbing fingertips over the stone-cold, scaled flesh.

" _Viinturuth! Krii dovahkiin! Krii dii prodah kriid!"_

" _Voth fus Zu'u geblaaniin hin uthhe, Alduin!"_

The sting I felt on my fingertips startled me and I jumped back. As I stared at my hand, my vision went white.

_Pain. I felt nothing but pain. My heart stopped and started and tiny knives stung my body._

" _Fus Ro Dah."_

_The words of my kin came from below. A force struck my body and my breath stopped momentarily._

_Anger. I felt nothing but anger. "Yol." I watched the tiny mortals beneath me cower behind shields as my fire breath threatened to lick their delicate flesh off of their bones._

_And then it was cold, too cold. I burned from the mage's ice-touch. I screamed as my wings cracked and ripped. The dragon-soul below me joined the old mage in destroying my ancient body._

" _Nid!" I had to land. The pain was confusing and instinct led me to a large open space. "Funtaan! I have failed you, brother. I welcome death. Bring forth the mortals' blades and the dragon-soul's jaws. I will be one with Bormahu again. Meyz! Naak dii sil, dovahkiin! Mu kosiin gein!"_

I was screaming. I knew I was screaming; I could hear myself. Hands were upon me, holding me, but I did not know whose. I could not see. Everything was white. Everything was pain. I felt as though Flavia was crawling back up inside me but not stopping at my womb. Something was inside me, swirling around every bit of me. Every nerve was exploding.

" _Faaz!"_ The foreign word entered my mind and was forced out of my mouth by the entity that had invaded my body. My skin was ripping apart; my bones were shattering. My memory shot to Yrsarald, shifting into his beast form, and I knew that this was what it felt like for him to become a werebear.

I heard my name being called, but it was not my name _._

"I am Shine Hammer Rage!" I shouted at those who called me Deborah. "I am a warrior of fate! I am power! I am vengeance! _Zu'u naakiin hein qethhe!"_

_Mortal hands held my wings, keeping me from the sky. I was powerless against their grip in this tiny, useless body._

_And then I saw my bones, my own bones, disassembled and naked on the stone ground. It was finished. I was with the dragon-souled one; she had stolen my life._

"YRSA!" I screamed.

"Deborah, I'm here." The man's voice came from beside me. He was holding me, supporting me, but I was soon on all fours, vomiting up water and then dry-heaving.

"It  _hurts_ ," I choked, spitting the acidic mucus from my mouth. My vision was blurry from welled tears.

"I know, honeybee, I know." Yrsarald was stroking my mussed hair and rubbing his palm up and down my robed back.

"There was thunder," I muttered. "Thunder and lightning and ice…." I wretched again, spewing forth nothing, not even air.

"What the  _fuck_  did you do!?" boomed a voice in front of me.

I looked up, feeling the mucus drip in strands from my mouth to my neck as I did so. The overcast sky turned the figure standing almost directly above me into a dark silhouette. "Who…?" my weak, rasping voice asked.

The figure crouched down to meet my level and took my jaw in its giant hand. I saw pale yellow-green eyes flash at mine before I jerked my face away.

Yrsarald sprung forth. "Get away from her!" my furious protector shouted.

The figure said nothing, but I watched his feet retreat several paces. My vision finally focused, and I was able to see that the figure was an orc. An orc in dark grey heavy armor, holding a warhammer. A sword that looked curiously like a katana peeked out from behind his back. Part of his face was obscured from my view by curving cheekpieces on his helm, but I saw his tusks. My breath caught and I choked again. Yrsarald knelt at my side once more, and someone else walked forth toward the stranger. I heard whispers behind me.

_Dragonborn._

_Dragonborn._

"You'd be wise to stay away from the mage," I heard Ulfric's deep voice say.

The orc stepped forward, once. "And who the fuck are you, her father?"

"That's Ulfric Stormcloak, orc," a woman's heavily-accented voice shouted from behind me.

I lifted my head again to gaze at the figure before me. The orc stood still, his warhammer hanging from his right hand. Then, in a matter of nanoseconds, the behemoth lifted his weapon, advanced upon Ulfric, and swung. Still dazed and weak, I watched, helpless, as the end of the orc's massive warhammer smashed into the side of Ulfric's head.

**END BOOK ONE**


	55. Appendix - Glossary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have gone back through this entire story and edited grammar/spelling mistakes and typos, and gave it an all-around polish.
> 
> Don’t forget to check out the sequel-teaser “Dragonbane”, and the sequel to “Hero by Mistake”, “Hero by Choice”!

Please go to [scrptrx.tumblr.com/norren](http://scrptrx.tumblr.com/norren) to view the complete list of Norren words.


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